UC-NRLF 


I  ^i^  UAEM,  CAN/flLLA!'* 


XE'  KUMMER 


SAMUEL  FRENCH,  28-30  Wert  SSth  Si.,  New  York 


(( 


Be  Calm,  Camilla!'^ 

A  COMEDY  IN  TWO  ACTS 

BY 

clareIkummer 


Copyright,  1922,  by  Samuel  French 
All  Rights  Reserved 

CAUTION. — Professionals  and  amateurs  are  hereby  warned 
that  "BE  CALM  CAMILLA,"  being  fully  protected  under 
the  copyright  laws  of  the  United  States  and  Great  Britain, 
IS  subject  to  a  royalty,  and  anyone  presenting  the  play 

'  without  the  consent  of  the  author  or  her  authorized  agents 
will  be  liable  to  the  penalties  by  law  provided.  Applica- 
tions for  the  amateur  acting  rights  must  be  made  to 
Samuel  French,  28-30  West  38th  Street,  New  York. 


New  York 

SAMUEL  FRENCH 

Publisher 

28-30  West  38th  Street 


London 

SAMUEL  FRENCH,  Ltd. 

26  Southampton  Street 

STRAND 


Especial  notice  should  be  taken  that  the  possession  of 
this  book  without  a  valid  contract  for  production  first 
having  been  obtained  from  the  publisher,  confers  no  right 
or  license  to  professionals  or  amateurs  to  produce  the  play 
publicly  or  in  private  for  gain  or  charity. 

In  its  present  form  this  play  is  dedicated  to  the  reading 
public  only,  and  no  performance,  representation,  produc- 
tion, recitation,  or  public  reading  may  be  given  except  by 
special  arrangement  with  Samuel  French,  28-30  West  38th 
Street,  New  York. 

This  play  may  be  presented  by  amateurs  upon  payment 
of  a  roj'alty  of  Twenty-Five  Dollars  for  each  perform- 
ance, payable  to  Samuel  French,  28-30  West  38th  Street, 
New  York^  one  week  before  the  date  when  the  play  is 
given. 

Whenever  the  play  is  produced  the  following  notice  must 
appear  on  all  programs,  printing  and  advertising  for  the 
play:  "Produced  by  special  arrangement  with  Samuel 
French  of  New  York." 

Attention  is  called  to  the  penalty  provided  by  law  for 
any  infringement  of  the  author's  rights,  as  follows: 

"Section  4966: — Any  person  publicly  performing  or  rep- 
resenting any  dramatic  or  musical  composition  for  which 
copyright  has  been  obtained,  without  the  consent  of  the 
proprietor  of  said  dramatic  or  musical  compositions,  or  his 
heirs  and  assigns,  shall  be  liable  for  damages  thereof, 
such  damages,  in  all  cases  to  be  assessed  at  such  sum,  not 
less  than  one  hundred  dollars  for  the  first  and  fifty  dol- 
lars for  every  subsequent  performance,  as  to  the  court 
shall  appear  to  be  just.  If  the  unlawful  performance  and 
representation  be  wilful  and  for  profit,  such  person  or 
persons  shall  be  guilty  of  a  misdemeanor,  and  upon  con- 
viction shall  be  imprisoned  for  a  period  not  exceeding  one 
year."— U.  S.  Revised  Statutes :    Title  60,  Chap.  3. 


CAST 


Junius  Patterson The  owner  of  the  Car 

Baxter   Pell Of  Fifth  Avenue 

Gus   Beals Of  Broadway 

McNeil  Brownlow,  "Mac"   A  waiter 

Bill  Slattery A  piano  mover 

Jo  GiBBiNS Another 

Celia  Brooke A  lady  of  leisure 

Alma  Robins  ' A  nurse 

Camilla  Hathaway Alone  in  the  City 


ACT  I 

Scene  i  :     Camilla's  room  in  the  Belle-Marie,  a 
cheap  hotel. 

Scene  2 :     Camilla's  room  in  the  Hospital. 


ACT    II 

Scene  i  :  The  living-room  in  Junius  Patterson's 
house  in  the  zvoods. 

Scene  2 :  The  same. 


5003r>3 


Gopy  of  the  play-bill  of  the  first  performance  of  "BE  CALM, 

CAMILLA,"    at    the    Booth    Theatre,    New    York,    October 

31,  1918: 

MR.  ARTHUR  HOPKINS 

Presents 

"BE  CALM,  CAMILLA" 

CLARE  KUMMER'S  NEW  COMEDY 

Staged  by  Arthur  Hopkins 

Settings  by  Robert  Edmond  Jones 

CAST  OF  CHARACTERS 

Junius  Patterson,  the  owner  of  the  Car, 

Walter  Hampden 
Baxter  Pell,  a  gentleman  of  leisure . .  Rex  McDougall 

Gus  Beals,  of  Broadway Arthur  Shaw 

McNeil  Brownlow,  "Mac,"  a  waiter, 

William  Sampson 

Jo  Gibbons,  a  piano-mover Harold  Salter 

Bill  Slattery,  anothel^ John  J.  Harris 

Celia  Brooke,  lady  of  leisure  ....  Carlotta  Monterey 

Alma  Robins,  a  nurse Hedda  Hopper 

Camilla  Hathaway,  alone  in  the  City. .  .Lola  Fisher 

Synopsis  of  Scenes 

Act  I 

Scene  i.     Camilla *s    room    in    the    Belle-Marie,    a 

cheap  New  York  hotel. 
Scene  2.     Camilla's  room  in  the  Hospital. 

Act  II 
Scene  i.     The   living-room  in   Junius   Patterson's 

house  in  the  woods. 
Scene  2.     The  same. 

4 


"Be  Calm,  Camilla! 


>? 


ACT  I. 

Scene  i  :  Camilla's  room  in  the  Hotel  Belle-Marie, 
This  room  contains  a  bed  or  folding-bed  or 
couch  that  looks  as  though  it  might  be  made  into 
a  bed.  A  bureau,  a  table,  some  chairs  and  a 
worn  upright  piano. 

On  rise,  Mac  enters  the  room  with  a  tray 
of  dishes,  containing  bread  and  butter,  beef- 
steak and  coffee.  He  sets  these  down  on  the 
table  center  with  a  rather  pleased  expression. 
His  face  in  repose  is  sad.  There  is  a  knock  on 
the  door,  which  Mac  has  left  open.) 

Mac.     (Looks  toward  the  door)     Did  you  want 
anything,  sir? 

Gus.    Yes — I  want  to  come  in.     (Enters.) 

Mac.    She's  not  here,  sir. 

Gus.    That's  all  right,  I'll  wait.     (Crosses  and  sits 
down  L.c.j 

Mac.     (Standing  at   table  c.     Troubled)     Well, 
I  don't  know  just  what  to  say  about  that,  sir. 

Gus.     That's  all  right.     You  don't  need  to  say 
anything. 

Mac.    I  hope  your  call  is  a  friendly  one,  sir. 

Gus.      It  sure   is.     Why?     Does   she  have  un- 
friendly callers? 

Mac.   What  I  meant,  sir,  was — I  hope  she  doesn't 
— owe  you  anything,  sir. 

Gus.     (Laughing)    Good  Lord,  no. 
5 


6  "BE   CALM,   CAMILLA" 

Mac.  (Easing  up)  Sometimes  you  know,  sir, 
they  get  in.  And  it's  just  terrible  to  see  a  man  hav- 
ing a  lady  at  his  mercy,  sir,  you  might  say,  sitting 
comfortable,  in  the  only  place  she's  got  to  get  away 
from  him. 

Gus.  Fm  not  that  kind  of  a  man.  If  a  lady 
wants  me  to  go,  I  know  it  before  she  does,  and  Vm 
gone. 

Mac.    Well,  I'm  very  glad,  sir ;  I  am,  indeed. 

Gus.  I  hope  that  Miss  Hathaway  doesn't  have  too 
many  of  these  gentlemen  you  speak  of  around? 

Mac.  No,  sir — ^but — well — we  can't  help  noticing 
things  and — I  know  a  real  lady,  when  I  see  one, 
sir. 

Gus.    Yes — well,  we  all  hope  we  do. 

Mac.  It  goes  against  the  grain  to  see  a  sweet 
young  lady  like  her  in  a  place  like  this. 

Gus.  Why?  What's  the  matter  with  it ?  I  recom- 
mended this  place  to  her  myself. 

Mac.    Oh,  it's  all  right  for  some,  sir,  but 

Gus.  Manager's  a  particular  friend  of  mine.  Good 
hearted  old  mush  that  wouldn't  put  a  girl  out  on  the 
street  if  she  couldn't  come  across  with  her  room  rent 
on  time.     That's  what  a  girl  needs,  isn't  it? 

Mac.    Yes,  sir.     A  girl  needs  a  lot  of  things. 

Gus.  Right — and  what  she  doesn't  need,  she  thinks 
she  needs. 

Mac.    She  needs  good  hearty  food  for  one  thing. 

Gus.  She  does.  I'm  glad  to  see  that  noble  tray 
you've  loaded  in  for  this  particular  young  lady. 

Mac.  You're  not  so  glad  as  I  am,  sir,  for  believe 
me  there  have  been  days  when  I  didn't  come  in  here 
at  all. 

Gus.  You  don't  say.  How  does  it  happen  she 
orders  when  she's  out? 

Mac.  Well  sir,  maybe  she  was  on  her  way 
home  and  just  thought  it  would  be  a  good  idea — 


"BE   CALM,   CAMILLA"  7 

there's  a  lot  in  not  having  to  wait,  you  know,  sir, 
when  you're  hungry 

Gus.    I  see — she'll  be  here  soon  then. 

TELEPHONE. 

Mac.  Well,  it  looks  like  it,  sir,  doesn't  it  ?  (Tele- 
phone rings,  Mac,  after  a  glance  at  Gus,  goes  to 
phone  on  wall  l.u.J  Hello — who's  down  there? 
The  what?  I  can't  understand.  Oh,  yes,  yes,  I  do 
now.  (Turns  to  Gus. J  It's  the  Stumph  Piano 
Works  is  down  there,  sir,  they  say. 

Gus.    Really?    Well,  what's  their  trouble? 

Mac.  (Wincing  as  the  telephone  voice  explains) 
Oh — oh,  yes — ^but  she's  not  here.  (To  Gus.j  It's 
about  the  bill,  I'm  afraid,  sir.  (Into  phone.)  Just  a 
moment,  please.  If  the  bill  has  not  been  paid,  I  am 
sure  it  will  be.  (Wincing.  To  Gus.j  It's  several 
bills.  (Into  phone.)  But  I  couldn't  let  you  up  with 
nobody  here.  (Turns  in  despair  to  Gus.j  They're 
coming  up  anyway  they  say,  sir 

Gus.  AH  right,  let  'em  come.  And  you  rustle  me 
up  a  little  drink  of  straight  whiskey,  will  you? 
Maybe  you'd  better  bring  the  bottle. 

Mac.  (Glancing  at  piano  over  l.  j  You  won't  let 
them 

Gus.  Not  on  your  life.  (Exit  Mac  center.  Gus 
goes  to  piano  and  plays  a  little — hums  over  a  song 
on  piano  which  has  some  cracked  notes.  A  loud 
rap  on  the  door.)  Come  in.  (Two  burly  piano  mov- 
ers enter.)     Why  knock? 

Joe.     (r.)     Is  that  the  piano? 

Gus.  (Sitting  on  stool  at  piano)  Well,  I  don't 
know.  Maybe  you'd  call  it  a  piano.  I  wouldn't. 
How  is  the  old  man? 

Joe.     What? 

Gus.    How  is  old  Stumph? 

Joe.    How  do  /  know? 

Gus.     Has  anybody  killed  him  yet? 


8  "BP:   calm,   CAMILLA*' 

Bill.    He's  dead. 

Gus.  Well,  you  can't  expect  to  make  pianos  like 
that  and  go  on  living-  just  as  though  you  had  a  blame- 
less record. 

Joe.  Well,  we  didn't  come  here  to  have  a  chat — 
get  busy,  Bill.     fBiLL  starts  for  piano.) 

Gus.  I  think  you're  making  a  big  mistake  if  you 
touch  this  piano. 

Bill.    Why? 

Gus.  Well,  it's  a  nice  warm  spring  day,  and  I 
should  think  you  could  find  something  better  to  do 
than  to  ride  a  piano  around  the  street,  for  instance. 
('Mac  enters  with  bottle  of  whiskey  and  glass,  sets 
it  down  on  table  c.  and  exits.)  Listen.  How  would 
you  two  boys  like  to  go  out  and  have  a  little 
friendly  drink  with  me — only  go  out  and  have  it  by 
yourselves,  because  I  always  drink  a  full  quart. 
(Takes  out  a  dollar  bill.) 

Joe.  I'm  willin'  to  go  an'  come  back,  if  that's 
all  you  want. 

Gus.  I  don't  want  even  that  much.  (The  piano 
movers  glance  dubiously  at  one  another.) 

Joe.  Come  on.  Bill — but  listen — we'll  be  back. 
Don't  fool  yourself.  (They  go  out.  Gus  takes 
another  drink,  places  bottle  and  glass  on  table  up 
stage  r.c.  Almost  immediately  Camilla  enters 
and  closes  the  door,  leaning  against  it,  glancing  in 
bird-like  surprise  at  Gus  R.) 

Camilla,     (c.)    Oh-h 

Gus.    (Over  R.c.j    Welcome  home,  little  stranger. 

Camilla.  Who  were  those  two  dreadful  men?  I 
thought  they  came  out  of  my  room — they  did! 

Gus.  Well,  you  don't  mind  that,  do  you?  You 
wouldn't  want  them  in  here. 

Camilla.    But  what  were  they  doing? 

Gus.  They  were  just  going  out.  They  came  in 
by  mistake. 


"BE  CALM,   CAMILLA"  9 

Camilla.    Has  anything  dreadful  happened? 

Gus.    Nothing,  but  me. 

Camilla.  Oh,  dear,  you  know  I  think  the  most 
wonderful  thing  in  the  world  is  to  get  home,  and  oh, 
the  delicious  smell  of  beefsteak.  (Looking  gratefully 
at  Beals. j  How  did  you  ever  think  of  it  ?  ("Beals 
looks  doubtful.)  I'm  very  glad  to  see  you.  (She 
goes  to  him.    Gives  him  her  hands.) 

Gus.    Well,  I'm  glad  to  see  you,  kid.    I  sure  am. 

Camilla.    I  haven't  seen  you  for  a  long  time. 

Gus.  And  you  wouldn't  have  seen  me  now,  but  I 
came  to  bring  you  a  little  bit  of  good  news. 

Camilla.  (With  feeling)  Oh,  no — not  really? 
(Sits  chair,  r.  of  table  c.) 

Gus.  Well,  you're  not  going  to  cry  about  it,  are 
you? 

Camilla.    I  don't  know.    Maybe  I  am. 

Gus.  You  are  not.  Now  listen.  In  the  first 
place — we're  friends — (Sits  R.c.j — aren't  we? 

Camilla.  I  should  say  we  were,  just  the  most 
wonderful  friends — especially  if  you  brought  me 
good  news. 

Gus.  Forget  the  good  news,  and  let  me  tell  you 
something.  You  thought  the  last  time  I  saw  you  I 
was  going  to  make  love  to  you,  didn't  you? 

Camilla.   I  thought  you — did. 

Gus.    Now  listen — I  know  everything. 

Camilla.   That  must  be  wonderful. 

Gus.  I  know  you're  a  sweet  kid,  and  you  don't 
know  anything  about  life,  and  you  don't  want  to, 
yet — isn't  that  so? 

Camilla.  I  don't  know — ^probably — I  don't  know 
anything — I  guess. 

Gus.  You  thought  that  night  I  brought  you  here 
that  I  was  never  going — didn't  you?  You  were 
afraid  of  me. 


10  "BE   CALM,   CAMILLA" 

Camilla.  Well,  I  thought  you  stayed  rather  late, 
I  did,  yes.    But  I  wasn't  afraid  exactly. 

Gus.    You  weren't  afraid.    Why? 

Camilla.     (Hesitating)    Well 

Gus.     (Insisting)    Why  weren't  you  afraid? 

Camilla.     Well 

Gus.  I'm  going  to  tell  you.  You  weren't  afraid 
because  there  was  no  need  to  be.  I'm  a  gentleman. 
You  never  thought  of  that,  did  you? 

Camilla.  No.  I  mean — I  would  have  been  afraid 
just  the  same. 

Gus.     Oh,  you  were  afraid. 

Camilla.    Well 

Gus.  Listen  here.  No  girl  need  be  afraid  of  me. 
Understand  ? 

Camilla.    Yes,  of  course.    I'm  so  glad. 

Gus.  I  was  kind  of  touched  on  the  raw  that 
night.  I  saw  you  7vere  afraid,  and  I  went  off  on  a 
trip  to  Atlantic  City  the  next  day  with  a  girl  that 
wasn't 

Camilla.  (A  little  embarrassed)  Oh,  did  you 
have  a  nice  time?    It  must  be  lovely  down  there. 

Gus.    The  girl  I  took  down  was  a  lovely  girl 

Camilla.    Was  she? 

Gus.  (A  little  defiantly)  But  when  a  girl's  been 
married  to  two  men  who  treat  her  like  dirt,  it  makes 
her  ideas  change. 

Camilla.   Married  to  two — at  once,  do  you  mean  ? 

Gus.  No,  a  few  years  between,  but  both  rotten — 
she  appreciates  a  good  fellow.    Understand  ? 

Camilla.    Yes. 

Gus.  No.  You  don't.  But  here's  the  whole  thing. 
I  wouldn't — I  never  have,  and  I  wouldn't — kiss  a  girl 
that  didn't  want  me  to.    I  didn't  kiss  you,  did  I  ? 

Camilla.    No,  but  you  nearly  did. 

Gus.  Why?  Because  you  were  just  about  all  in, 
poor  kid,  and  I  was  sorry  for  you,  and  all  T  could 


"BE  CALM.   CAMILLA"  ii 

thing  of  to  do  about  it  was  to  kiss  you.  Wasn't 
that  silly?  Well,  anyway,  to  return  to  the  good 
news.  "Binks,"  you  know,  Bianchi,  the  big  res- 
taurant on  the  corner  of  Forty-sixth  street — well,  he 
wants  to  let  you  come  up  and  sing  there  during 
supper.  (She  moves  away  from  him  a  little,  laugh- 
ing nervously.) 

Camilla.   But  I  can't  sing.    You  know  I  can't. 

Gus.  I  told  him  you  couldn't — that's  why  he  wants 
you.  He  says  they're  tired  of  singing.  You  just 
go  up  and  talk  your  way  through  a  little  song,  and 
it  won't  annoy  anybody — and  if  you're  pretty,  you 
get  away  with  it. 

Camilla.    Oh — if  I'm  ptetty 

Gus.  I  guess  we  don't  have  to  worry  about  that, 
do  we? 

Camilla.  I  don't  know.  I  suppose  I  could  fix 
up  a  little. 

Gus.   Don't  you  dare  to  fix  up. 

Camilla.    If  he  only  wanted  me  to  play. 

Gus.  Get  away  with  the  song  and  you  can  play 
if  it  amuses  you.  Nobody  cares  if  you  do.  You 
see  it  was  like  this.  Bianchi  has  a  girl,  a  very  clever 
Italian  girl- 


Camilla.    Oh- 


Gus.  They  had  a  fight  last  night,  while  I  was 
there,  and  he  fired  her.  She  didn't  care.  She'll  get 
on — she's  that  kind  of  a  girl — and  Bianchi  came  over 
to  my  table  and  said :  ''I  wish  I  could  get  a  cute 
pretty  girl  who  can't  sing — a  blonde."  I  said  "I 
know  one — the  very  one."  It  was  fixed  up  right 
there.  Fifteen  dollars  a  week  and  your  dinner — 
sit  alone  at  a  table  you  know,  pushing  down  the 
puree  until  it's  time  not  to  sing. 

Camilla.    Well — it  was  just  too  good  of  you. 

Gus.   You  don't  seem  just  crazy  about  the  idea. 

Camilla.   I  am — and  simply  mad  about  the  puree ! 


12  "BE   CALM,   CAMILLA" 

Now  I  can  tear  this  up.  (Takes  clipping  from  her 
purse  and  shows  it  to  GusJ 

Gus,  (Reads)  "Professional  entertainers  wanted 
— three  cents  a  word."    You'd  have  to  talk  quite  a 

lot  to  make  anything ("Camilla  points  to  one.) 

"Wanted — Piano  player  in  moving  picture  theatre — 
no  experience  necessary,  434  West  38th  St."  Poor 
kid !  ("Camilla  takes  clipping  and  tears  it  in  two — 
drops  it  into  waste-paper  basket  and  is  thoughtful 
for  a  moment.)    Cheer  up ! 

Camilla.    I  was  just  thinking  how (Rises, 

goes  R.c.  j 

Gus.    Don't  do  it — it's  a  mistake. 

Camilla.  What  a  ridiculous  dream  I  had  when 
I  came  to  the  city. 

Gus.    Everybody  has  it 

Camilla.  I  don't  know  how  or  why  in  the  world 
I  thought  I  was  ever  going  to  do  anything,  how 
in  the  world  I  got  the  idea  that  anybody  would  want 
me.  But  I  did.  I  thought  they  would  want  to 
hear  me  play  on  the  piano !    Wasn't  is  ridiculous  ? 

Gus.  Well,  was  it  ?  You  played  to  me  that  night 
I  was  here.  Don't  you  remember?  I  like  to  hear 
you. 

Camilla.  Oh,  how  dear  of  you  to  say  that,  but 
now  I  know  that — that  I  don't  even  play  well.  Think 
how  you've  got  to  play  to  get  paid  for  it! 

Gus.     You've  got  to  punish  the  piano. 

Camilla.  Why,  it  was  absurd.  The  only  people 
in  the  world  that  would  want  to  hear  me  would  be 
my  family — if  I  had  any.  Don't  you  see?  I  am  not 
what  I  thought  I  was  at  all.     I'm  nothing. 

Gus.  (Rising  and  crossing  to  the  piano)  Come 
on — let's  lay  out  your  programme.  Here's  a  little 
ditty  I  just  knocked  out,  kid.  Use  it  for  me,  will 
you? 


"BE   CALM,   CAMILLA"  13 

Camilla.  (Who  is  standing  above  piano-stool) 
I'd  love  to — if 

Gus.    If  it's  not  too  rotten? 

Camilla.    No — I  mean  if  I  could. 

Gus.  Well,  it's  kind  of  a  nice  melody,  that's  my 
part  of  it. 

Camilla.     Oh,  you  didn't  write  the  words. 

Gus.  No.  I  only  do  comedy  words.  I've  got 
a  great  little  comedy  song,  "There's  a  Reason" — 
"There's  a  reason  why  I  please  the  boys — a  reason 
why  I  tease  the  boys."  But  I  don't  think  it 
would  suit  you.     (He  sings.) 

Camilla.  No,  I  don't  think  I  could  do  it.  It 
seems  more  like  a  song  for  a  brunette,  doesn't  it? 

Gus.  Yes,  needs  a  lot  of  pep.  The  fellow  who 
wrote  the  words  for  this  song  is  kind  of  delicate.  I 
like  his  stuff.  It  might  not  "get  by"  every  time,  it's 
too  refined. 

Camilla.  Yes,  but  maybe  people  wouldn't  notice 
that — I  mean  maybe  your  music  would  sort  of  make 
it  all  right. 

Gus.  Well,  maybe.  Listen,  kid — (Pulling  music 
sheet  from  his  pocket.)  You  can  sing  from  this 
maybe.  It's  a  bum  copy.  The  fellow  at  the  fac- 
tory just  took  it  down  for  me. 

Camilla.  (Taking  copy)  Oh — "Somebody's 
Eyes" (^Gus  plays  the  introduction  of  song.) 

Gus.  Yes.  Sounds  kind  of  sickening,  but  it's 
not — go  on — try  it. 

Camilla.    (Sings) 

I  know  the  world  is  a  wonderful  world. 

And  this  is  how  I  know. 
Somebody's  eyes  looked  into  mine — 

They  told  me  it  was  so. 
I  know  the  skies  are  wonderful  skies, 
With  sun  and  moon  so  bright. 

(Glances  at  Gvs,  who  nods  approvingly.) 


14  "BE   CALM,   CAMILLA" 

But  I'll  confess  without  somebody's  eyes — 
The  skies  lose  all  their  light! 
Gus.    Re-iraLin.. 
Camilla. 

When  you  are  thinking  of  somebody's  eyes, 

Somebody's  eyes,  tender  and  wise, 

It  doesn't  matter  what  other  eyes  say, 

You  turn  away  and  sigh — 

Just  for  somebody's  eyes. 

Gus.    (Joining  in)    Just  for  somebody's  eyes 

Camilla. 

Somebody's  voice — 
Whispers  to  you,  "I  always  knew, 
Only  to  your  eyes  can  my  eyes  be  true. 
No  other  eyes  will  do!" 
'  Gus.    Great — second  verse.     (^Camilla  rises  and 
goes  to  L.  of  table  c.) 

Camilla.    Would  you  mind  if  I  ate  first? 
Gus.   (Still  plays  the  pia^io)   I  should  say  not,  poor 
kid — what  am  I  thinking  of !     (She  sits.      Just  as 
she  is  about  to  eat,  there  is  a  hurried  rap  on  the 
door.) 

Camilla.  Who  is  it?  (The  door  opens,  enter 
Mac.J 

Mac.     (Disturbed)     Oh,  Miss,  did  you — is  there 
a  mistake  perhaps? 
Camilla.    A  mistake? 

Gus.  What  is  the  trouble  with  the  handsome 
waiter?     (Stops  playing  piano.) 

Mac.  Why,  it's  just  about  the  tray,  Miss.  It 
was  ordered  for  thirty-two.  Now  forty- two  sends 
down  and  asks  where  it  is. 

Camilla.  (To  Gusj  Why,  I  thought  you  or- 
dered it? 

Gus.    No,  kid — I  thought  you  ordered  it. 
Mac.   That's  what  I  thought.     It's  that  girl  at  the 
switchboard.     She  hasn't  her  mind  on  anything  but 


"BE  CALM,   CAMILLA"  15 

where  she  was  last  night,  or  where  she's  a  going 
to-night.     (Embarrassed.) 

Camilla.  (Putting  cover  over  platter)  I  took  one 
little  bite  of  steak,  but  I  don't  think  forty-two  will 
ever  know  it. 

Mac.  I'm  sorry,  Miss,  indeed  I  am.  I  mean — to 
annoy  you  with  the  tray.  It's  all  my  fault.  I  mean 
all  her  fault. 

Camilla.  That's  all  right,  Mac — I  will  order 
later.    ('Mac  exits.) 

Gus.  (Goes  to  her,  stands  l.)  Now,  I'll  tell  you 
what  we'll  do.  You're  going  to  come  out  and  have 
a  nice  little  supper  with  me. 

Camilla.    No,  no — truly  I  couldn't. 

Gus.    Why  not  ? 

Camilla.  Well,  I  want  to  practice.  Isn't  it 
ridiculous — no  one  wants  me  to — still  I  feel  that  I 
must.  I  haven't  touched  that  piano  to-day,  and  I 
didn't  yesterday. 

Gus.  Well,  touch  it.  Just  touch  it  and  let  it  go  at 
that.     Say,  how  do  you  like  this  joint? 

Camilla.    Why,  it's  all  right. 

Gus.  Say,  I  just  thought  of  it.  You  know,  I've 
got  the  grandest  little  studio  up  on  Central  Park 
West:  two  rooms  and  bath,  and  a  kitchenette  and 
a  great  big  room  with  a  baby  grand  piano — belongs 
to  a  crazy  gink.  He's  gone  out  to  California  to 
get  married — ^and  he  may  never  come  back. 

Camilla.    How  lovely ! 

Gus.  I  was  thinking  if  your  name  was  only 
William,  instead  of  Camilla,  we  could  live  as  nice 
as  you  please  till  you  got  going. 

Camilla.  Oh,  how  dear  of  you  to  think  of  such 
a  thing,  but  my  name  is  not  William. 

Gus.  Well,  it's  too  late  to  do  anything  about  that 
now.     So  the  best  we  can  do  is  do  the  best  we  can. 

Camilla.     Yes,  the  best  we  can.     It's  so  little 


i6  "BE   CALM,   CAMILLA" 

compared  to  what  we  could  do — if  we  could  just  do 
— our  worst! 

Gus.    Say,  kid,  now  don't  faint,  but (With 

impressiveness.)      You  know  I  was  married  once. 
(Goes  to  head  of  table  center,  facing  front,) 

Camilla.    Were  you  really? 

Gus.  And  I  said:  "Never  again.  Let  me  out — 
forgive  me  and  I'll  never  get  mixed  up  with  any- 
one again  but  the  lady  on  Bedloe's  Island — Liberty." 
Well,  here's  where  I  change  my  mind. 

Camilla.    Oh,  here? 

Gus.  Yes,  if  you  want  to  go  through  with  me. 
I'm  ready.  The  big,  old  ring  and  everything — what 
do  you  say? 

Camilla.  Why,  I  just  can't  say  anything.  It's 
so  wonderful  to  think  of  your  being  willing  to  do  it. 

Gus.  Well,  I  don't  know.  Are  you  willing — 
that's  the  question. 

Camilla.    Oh,  no — I — I — I  couldn't. 

Gus.  Don't  like  me  well  enough.  Say,  kid,  I  don't 
like  to  hand  myself  any  orchids,  but  I'm  the  kind 
of  fellow  that  gets  along. 

Camilla.    I'm  sure  you  are — it  isn't  that. 

Gus.  If  my  bankroll  isn't  big  to-day,  it's  no  sign 
that  it  won't  be  big  to-morrow. 

Camilla.  Of  course  not.  I  know  it  isn't.  I 
mean  I  know  it  will  be. 

Gus.     I'm  the  fellow  with  the  smile,  get  me? 

Camilla.     Yes,  I  know;  it's  so  important. 

Gus.  The  fellow  with  the  smile.  If  I  get  knocked 
down,  I  don't  know  it,  see? 

Camilla.  (A  little  faint  and  confused)  Yes,  it's 
splendid — it's  the  only  way  to  get  knocked  down — 
I'm  sure 

Gus.    I  get  up — see  what  I  mean  ? 

Camilla.  Yes,  of  course,  and  that's  even  more 
important  than  getting  knocked  down. 


'Be  Calm,  Camilla' 


See  page  18 


"BE  CALM,  CAMILLA*'  17 

Gus.     (A  little  uneasy)     Poor  kid!  Here ! 

(Goes  to  bureau  up  stage,  gets  whiskey,  sets  it  down 
on  table  c.)  Have  a  little  drop  of  this.  It  will  do 
you  good. 

Camilla.    No,  truly,  I  don't  want  it. 

Gus.  Come  on — it  will  make  you  forget  all  your 
troubles. 

Camilla.  No.  Why  forget  them?  They  won't 
forget  me. 

Gus.  Ah,  come  on.  Just  a  little  taste.  (Putting 
glass  to  her  lips.) 

Camilla.  Stop,  please!  I  don't  want  to  forget. 
If  I  have  to  begin  to  forget  I'd  rather  forget  al- 
together— I  don't  care  about  living  if  I've  got  to 
begin  to  forget. 

Gus.    Then  there's  nothing  I  can  do  for  you? 

Camilla.    You're  not  angry  with  me,  are  you? 

Gus.  I  am  not.  I  only  just  wish  I  could  fix  things 
up  for  you.  If  you  won't  be  my  lawfully  wedded 
wife,  why  not  be  a  sister  to  me  and  come  up  to 
the  studio?     Can  you  cook? 

Camilla.    I  can  make  coffee 

Gus.  (With  enthusiasm)  Come  on,  come  on — no- 
body'll  know  the  difference.  The  janitor's  crazy  as 
a  loon  and  his  wife  has  got  six  children — all  of  'em 
down  in  the  cellar,  with  a  fox  terrier  dog.  They're 
not  going  to  think  about  you — don't  you  know  it  ? 

Camilla.  Yes,  I  know,  and  I'd  love  to  do  it,  but 
I  just  couldn't. 

Gus.  Just  couldn't  because  of  what  people  would 
say. 

Camilla.    Well,  yes — I  suppose  so. 

Gus.    But  whof    Who's  going  to  say  anything? 

Camilla.    Well,  my  ancestors! 

Gus.  Good  Lord!  Well,  of  course  if  your  an- 
cestors are  on  the  job — might  as  well  give  up. 

Camilla.     I'm  sorry,  but  they  just  seem  to  be 


i8  "BE  CALM,   CAMILLA" 

about  all  I  have  left — the  only  people  I  can  count 
on. 

Gus.  Well,  let  me  know  if  ^there's  anything  I  can 
do  for  you,  kid.  Call  up  Bianchi,  and  Til  drop  in 
and  see  him,  just  to  make  sure  that  you  get  the  place. 

Camilla.  Oh,  must  you  go?  (Rising,)  I  just 
can't  thank  you.  You'll  never  know  how  I  appre- 
ciate all  you've  been  willing  to  do  for  me. 

Gus.  Believe  me,  it  was  going  some  when  I  of- 
fered to  put  on  the  old  ball  and  chain. 

Camilla.  I'm  so  sorry,  Some  time  you  must  tell 
me  about  her,  and  what  happened,  and  what  she  is. 

Gus.  I  don't  know — thank  God!  By-by,  dear. 
(Exit  Gus.j 

Camilla.  (Goes  to  piano,  sits  and  sings)  I  know 
the  world  is  a  wonderful  world (Not  satis- 
fied.) A  wonderful  world (Smiling.)  A  won- 
derful world (Wistfully.)     I  know  the  world 

is  a  wonderful  world (Puts  her  head  down 

on  the  piano.   Voices  off  break  in  upon  her  rudely.) 

Bill.  An'  I  says  to  him,  I  says:  "What  do  you 
take  me  for?    I  wasn't  born  yesterday,"  I  says. 

Joe.     No — nor  the  day  before  yesterday. 

Bill.  (Indulgently)  That's  right,  nor  the  day 
before  that. 

Camilla.   (Raises  her  head)  Oh \  (Startled.) 

What  is  it — what  do  you  want?     (Rising.) 

Bill.  (Enters  with  Joe,  more  cheerful  after  their 
drinks)    Stumph's  Piano  Works,  Miss. 

Camilla.    Oh !    (Near  piano.) 

Bill.    Come  for  the  piano. 

Camilla.   Oh — you're  not  going  to  take  it  away — 

Joe.  ("r.  of  Camilla^  (As  Slattery  hesitates) 
Well,  that's  just  as  you  say — if  you  pay  the  bill,  we'll 
let  it  go,  and  leave  'er,  what  say,  Bill? 

Bill.    Sure. 

Camilla.    I'm  sorry — I  can't  pay  the  bill  to-night. 


"BE  CALM.  CAMILLA"  19 

I  might  to-morrow — because  I — I've  just  received  an 
offer  to  sing  somewhere 

Joe.    Oh 

Camilla.  And  I  could  probably  pay  for  the  piano 
to-morrow,  but  not  to-night. 

Bill.    Where  are  you  going  to  sing.  Miss? 

Camilla.    In  Bianchi's  restaurant. 

Joe.   Oh 

Bill.    That's  the  corner  of  Forty-sixth  Street. 

Toe.    No — Forty-eighth  Street. 

Bill.  No,  it  ain't.  It's  Forty-seventh  Street — 
that's  where  it  is — just  opposite  the  movin'  pictures. 

Joe.    Well,  no  matter  where  it  is,  it's  somewhere. 

Bill.    It  ain't  much  of  a  place. 

Joe.    Say,  that  don't  make  any  difference. 

Bill.    Don't  it? 

Joe.  Where  do  you  think  my  sister  started  to 
sing?  In  a  circus.  You  know  what  a  circus  is. 
You  can't  hear  anything  in  the  first  place.  Well, 
she  made  a  great  success. 

Bill.    You  don't  say. 

Joe.  Where  do  you  think  she  is  now?  In  the 
Metropolitan  Opera  House.  Yes,  sir;  that's  where 
she  is  now. 

Bill.     What's  she  doing  there? 

Joe.  She's  cleanin'  up — that's  what  she's  do- 
in' 

Bill.  That's  what  I  thought.  (The  telephone 
rings.) 

Camilla.  (To  the  men)  Excuse  me  a  moment. 
(Goes  to  phone.)  Yes,  yes — Bianchi's  Restaurant. 
Yes,  I  was  expecting  you  to  call  me.  (Cheerfully.) 
Oh,  yes,  yes,  I  understand.  She's  come  back. 
(Drooping,  hut  brave.)  Well,  well,  that's  quite  all 
right.  I — I  was  very  doubtful  about  accepting  any- 
way, because  I  don't  sing  very  well.  No,  I  am — 
a — well — I  play,  you  see — ^the  piano.     Yes.     Good- 


ao  "BE  CALM,  CAMILLA" 

bye.     I (desperately  hoping  for  an  instant.) 

Good-bye. 

Joe.    I  thought  you  said  you  were  a  singer. 

Camilla.  No.  I  hardly  sing  at  all.  You  can 
take  the  piano.  I've  lost  my  engagement.  Shall  I 
take  the  things  off  the  top? 

Bill.  (Sympathetic)  No,  leave  'em,  Miss.  I'm 
fairly  sickened  with  the  whole  thing.  What  with 
Joe's  sister's  singin'  in  a  circus  and  Bianchi's  not 
bein'  on  Forty-seventh  Street  where  it's  always  been 
— we'll  come  back.  You  was  out — see?  We 
couldn't  get  the  pianner.     That's  all — good-night. 

Joe.  (Also  affected)  Good-night,  Miss,  an'  don't 
be  discouraged.  I  never  heard  you  sing,  but  my  sis- 
ter's voice  was  something  fierce,  and  think  what  she 
did  with  it — in  the  Metropolitan — chorus — ^but  you 
know,   workin'   up   to  leadin'  parts.      Good-night. 

f'CAMiLLA  sits  a  moment  alone  on  piano  stool.  A 
rap  at  the  door.  Mac  enters  apologetically  with 
tray.) 

Mac.  Excuse  me,  Miss.  Might  I  just  leave  this 
tray  in  here?  I'm  on  my  way  to  thirty-eight.  I'll 
be  a  few  minutes.  Forty-two  hardly  touched  any- 
thing, so  it'll  all  go  to  waste.  Oh,  yes,  well,  that's 
life,  Miss! 

Camilla.  (Looking  at  him  sadly)  You  dear, 
good  soul,  you  brought  that  tray  back  because  you 
thought  I  was  hungry. 

Mac.  No,  Miss,  but  if  you  are,  just  take  a  bite 
before  you  order.  I  heated  the  coffee  up  a  little. 
(He  sets  tray  down  on  table  c.) 

Camilla.  (Rising)  Oh,  how  kind  you  are — how 
kind  they  are — hov/  kind  everything  is  but  life. 
Life  makes  it  impossible — quite  impossible  to  go  on. 

Mac.     (Worried)     Does    it.    Mfss?      f Camilla 


"RE  CALM,  CAMILLA"  21 

crossed  her  hands  on  her  breast,  murmuring  words 
he  cannot  hear.)  I  beg  your  pardon,  Miss,  did  you 
say  anything? 

Camilla.  I  was  just  speaking  to  myself,  Mac. 
When  I  was  a  little,  oh,  a  tiny  little  girl,  my  mother 
taught  me  to  say  something  when  I  got  excited  or 
worried  about  anything. 

Mac.    (With  great  respect)    Oh,  Miss — a  prayer  ? 

Camilla.  Well  yes,  Mac.  It*s  a  sort  of  prayer, 
only  it's  addressed  to  myself.  She  told  me  to  close 
my  eyes  and  say,  "Be  calm,  Camilla!" 

Mac.    I  see.  Miss — and  does  it  work? 

Camilla.    Well,  sometimes  it  does. 

Mac.  Well,  that's  all  you  can  ask,  Miss,  of  any 
prayer. 

Camilla.     (With  a  far-away  look)     Yes. 

Mac.    (Anxiously)    Oh,  Miss,  if  only — if  only  I 

could  do  something  for  you But  the  tips  in  this 

place  they  just  ain't  anything  at  all.  Oh,  Miss,  the 
tips  I  used  to  get  in  the  country  place  down  on  Long 
Island — at  the  Applegates' — those  was  the  days! 
— I  can't  do  anything — I'm  just  helpless — that's  what 
I  am — ^and  you  just  like  you  might  he  an  Apple- 
gate. 

Camilla.  Well,  Mac,  sad  as  everything  is,  I 
wouldn't  want  to  be  an  Applegate. 

Mac.  Oh,  that's  the  only  way  to  be,  Miss.  Rich — , 
rich,  then  you  don't  see  what  I  do  here. 

Camilla.  Don't  feel  so  badly,  Mac.  You  are  a 
dear,  good,  kind  man — that's  all  that  any  one  can 
ask  a  man  to  be. 

Mac.  (Much  disturbed)  But  look  at  you.  Miss. 
Why  should  you  be  here?  I  ask  you.  Miss.  You 
don't  belong  here.  I  ask  you — why  should  you  be 
here?  (Picking  up  bottle.)  Excuse  me — I'll  just 
take  this  to  thirty-eight — I — I'll  be  back  again. 
Miss.     (He  goes  out.) 


22  "BE   CALM,   CAMILLA" 

Camilla.     Why  should  I  be  here Well,  I 

am (Puts  on  her  hat  in  a  kind  of  daze.    Takes 

clippings  out  of  the  scrap-basket  and  puts  the  pieces 
together.)  Four-thirty- four  West  Thirty-eighth 
Street.    (Exits  c.) 


CURTAIN 


ACT  I. 

Scene  II 

Time:     One  week  later. 

Scene:  Camilla's  room  in  the  hospital.  It  is  a 
private  room  and  has  been  fitted  up  with  every- 
thing that  can  be  permitted  in  such  a  room  for 
comfort  and  to  make  it  attractive.  A  flowering 
almond  tree  is  near  the  bed — rose-colored  cur- 
tains in  the  window — a  jar  of  pink  roses  on  the 
table.  A  silk  quilt  across  the  foot  of  the  bed. 
A  chaise-longue  with  pillows  and  another  silky 
coverlet.  A  pink  dressing-gown  and  slippers 
to  match  on  chair  near  the  bed. 

On  Rise:     Camilla  is  in  the  bed,  her  eyes 
closed — a  peaceful  expression  on  her  face. 

Camilla.  (Singing  to  herself)  "I  know  the  world 
is  a  wonderful  world,  and  this  is  how  I  know " 

Alma.  (Entering  with  a  vase  of  roses,  crosses  to 
table  near  window  up  r.,  sets  flowers  on  it)  Some- 
body's happy  this  morning, 

Camilla.  Oh — more  beautiful  roses ! 

Alma.  Yes — no  card — but  they're  from  the  same 
place.  So,  of  course  they're  from  him,  (Crosses 
around  to  bed,  stands  L.J 

Camilla.    Of  course. 

Alma.    Voice  is  coming  back,  isn't  it? 

Camilla.  It  is  back.  I  haven't  very  much  you 
know. 

Alma.  You  haven't  ?  Well — we  all  thought  you 
were  a  singer. 

23 


24  "BE   CALM,   CAMILLA" 

Camilla.  Why  did  you  think  I  had  a  voice, 
Alma? 

Alma.  Well,  when  you  were  delirious,  the  day 
after  you  were  brought  in,  you  kept  talking  about 
your  song — ^and  then  you  would  sing  sometimes,  in 
a  beautiful,  high  voice,  you'd  sing  that  song  you 
were  just  humming. 

Camilla.    Really?    I  wish  I  could  do  it  now. 

Alma.  My,  what  a  lucky  girl  you  are.  Just  sup- 
pose you'd  been  run  over  by  a  delivery  wagon ! 

Camilla.    I  know,  wouldn't  it  have  been  terrible  ? 

Alma.  You  certainly  picked  out  the  right  man. 
Did  you  see  him  at  all? 

Camilla.    No,  I  only  saw  the  car. 

Alma.  He  was  driving  it  himself,  you  know.  Oh, 
they  said  he  felt  something  terrible. 

Camilla.  It  seemed  to  be  all  blazing  with  light, 
like  a  golden  car.  I  thought  it  was  Phoebus  Apollo, 
come  down  to  earth. 

Alma.  It  was  the  brass,  I  suppose,  and  he  said  the 
sun  was  right  in  his  eyes. 

Camilla.  It  looked  perfectly  huge.  It  seemed  to 
fill  up  the  whole  street.  I  just  couldn't  help  getting 
under  it. 

Alma.  I  suppose  he'll  be  coming  to  see  you,  when 
he  gets  back. 

Camilla.  Oh,  do  you  think  so?  But  I'm  getting 
so  well?     I  won't  be  here  much  longer. 

Alma.  Well,  he'll  come  to  see  you  wherever  you 
live  then,  or  he'll  send  someone.  Oh,  he's  going  to 
look  out  for  you.  Why  wouldn't  he?  My  brother 
says  he's  one  of  the  six  richest  men  in  New  York 
City.  You  could  sue  him,  you  know,  and  get  your 
money  that  way,  if  you  wanted  to. 

Camilla.  (Shocked)  Oh,  sue  anyone  who  sent 
me  this  beautiful  almond  tree  and  let  me  lie  in  this 
heavenly  place  and  rest? 


*'Bfi  CALM,   CAMILLA"  25 

Alma.  Well,  I  don't  think  you'll  have  to.  Lis- 
ten, dear,  IVe  been  wondering  why  you  didn't  ask 
us  to  send  for  your  father  and  mother. 

Camilla.  Why,  I  haven't  any.  They  both — I 
lost  them  years  ago. 

Alma.  But  the  first  time  you  were  conscious,  you 
asked  to  see  them. 

Camilla.  Oh,  I  must  tell  you,  I  thought  I  was 
in  heaven. 

Alma.    Didn't  you  see  me? 

Camilla.  Yes,  but  it  seemed  all  right.  I'm  sure 
that  there  will  be  a  dear  doctor  and  a  darling  nurse 
beside  me,  when  I  wake  up  in  Heaven.  I  hope  so, 
anyway. 

Alma.  Well,  you're  a  funny  girl.  Bless  your 
heart.     You  know  our  doctor's  sick. 

Camilla.    Oh,  is  he? 

Alma.  Yes,  you'll  have  a  new  doctor  to-day. 
Dr.  Reamy.  He's  very  handsome,  too.  All  the 
nurses  are  crazy  about  him.  He's  younger  than  Dr. 
Greer  and  he's  not  married. 

Camilla.  Oh,  but  I  love  my  dear,  gray  doctor 
the  best,  is  he  very  ill? 

Alma.  Oh  no,  he'll  be  back  to-morrow.  He 
overworks,  you  know,  and  they  make  him  lay  off 
once  in  a  while.  He  may  not  be  sick  at  all,  he  may 
be  out  taking  a  ride  in  the  country. 

Camilla.    Oh,  I  do  hope  he  is. 

Alma.  (A  rap  at  the  door.  Going  to  door  l.le.J 
It's  that  young  man  who's  been  here  every  day,  Mr. 
Beals,  and  he  has  an  old  man  with  him — Mr.  Brown- 
low,  would  you  like  to  see  them? 

Camilla.  Why,  yes.  But  I  don't  know  who  Mr. 
Brownlow  is.  Perhaps  I'd  better  just  see  Mr.  Beals 
first. 

Alma.    (To  orderly  at  door)    All  right,  let  Mr. 


26  "BE   CALM,   CAMILLA'* 

,  Beals  up.     Would  you  like  to  put  on  "pinkie" — ^and 

3,T  v^Wbe  on  the  lounge? 

Camilla.  Yes,  let  me — unless  you  think  the  doc- 
ter  will  say  Vm  well  enough  to  go  home,  if  I  do. 

(She  gets  up  and  Alma  helps  her  into  gown  and 
slippers,  assists  her  to  lounge  over  r.c.^ 

Alma.  No,  my  dear,  believe  me,  they'll  never  send 
you  home  until  your  bill  is  paid.  People  have  been 
here  and  had  twins  for  less  than  what  Mr.  Patter- 
son's got  to  come  across  with. 

Camilla.  It  must  be  wonderful  to  leave  the  place 
with  twins.  Still,  I  love  my  little  almond  tree.  I 
can  take  that  with  me.     (Glancing  around.) 

Alma.    I  bet  you'll  leave  this  place  in  his  car. 

Camilla.  Why,  Alma  Robins  Hathaway,  how 
could  that  be? 

Alma.  Well,  all  kinds  of  things  happens  in  this 
world,  you  know !  It's  the  funniest  old  world  I  ever 
was  in.  (Tap  on  door.  Camilla  rests  on  the 
chaise-longue.    Alma  goes  to  door  and  opens  it.) 

Alma.     Come  right  in,  Mr.  Beals. 

Gus.  (Tiptoeing  in.  In  a  soft  voice,  going  to 
Camilla,  taking  her  hand)  Hello,  kid,  how  are 
you? 

Camilla.    I'm  perfectly  splendid,  how  are  you? 

Gus.   Well,  you  look  all  right,  anyway. 

Camilla.     This  is  Alma,  my  nurse. 

Gus.  Glad  to  meet  you.  (Looking  at  Alma  ap- 
provingly.)   Well,  I  don't  wonder  you  got  better. 

Camilla.  Isn't  she  nice,  and  don't  you  love  her 
cap? 

Gus.  I  sure  do !  Say,  how  did  you  do  it  ?  I'd  like 
to  get  laid  up  in  this  joint  for  a  few  weeks. 

Alma.     (She  is  standing  l.)     Do  you  mind  if  I 


"BE   CALM,   CAMILLA"  j; 

straighten  up  a  little?  (Spreading  up  bed,  leaving 
one  corner  turned  down.) 

Camilla.  No,  Alma,  we  love  to  have  you 
straighten  up,  don't  we? 

Gus.  (Crosses  and  sits  chair  r.  of  lounge  R.c.J 
I  should  say  so;  give  her  the  freedom  of  the  city. 
^Alma  looks  at  him  laughingly.  To  Camilla  J 
Now  tell  me  all  about  it.  You  know  Fve  been  here 
every  day. 

Camilla.  I  know  you  have.  They  wouldn't  let 
me  see  anybody;  they  said  the  excitement  would  be 
bad  for  me. 

Gus.  Is  it  all  right  now ?  (Turns.)  Is  it  all  right 
now,  Alma? 

Alma.  (Looks  up  in  astonishment)  Yes,  quite 
all  right. 

Gus.  (To  Camilla^  You're  not  excited  now,  are 
you? 

Camilla.  Oh,  yes,  but  it's  quite  all  right  for  me 
to  be  excited  now.  I  can  be  excited  and  eat  ice 
cream  and  everything. 

Gus.  Well,  say,  you  ran  right  out  and  got  run  over 
just  as  quick  as  I  left  you  that  night,  didn't  you? 

Camilla.  Yes,  I  didn't  waste  very  much  time, 
did  I? 

Gus.  I  heard  about  the  rotten  deal  Bianchi  gave 
you.  I  went  in  and  hit  him  right  in  the  eye.  I  don't 
suppose  you  read  about  it  in  the  paper. 

Camilla.    No,  I  didn't. 

Gus.    Oh,  yes,  I  got  arrested  and  everything. 

Camilla.    How  dreadful ! 

Gus.  No,  I  had  a  fine  time  in  jail,  met  a  lot  of 
fellows  I  knew,  nice  fellows  down  in  the  Alimony 
Club. 

Camilla.    The  Alimony  Club,  what's  that? 

Gus.  (As  Alma  laughs)  I  bet  Alma  knows. 
Why,  a  lot  of   fellows  whose  wives   like  to  know 


28  "BE   CALM,   CAMILLA" 

where  they  are  keep  them  down  in  Ludlow  Street 
Jail. 

Camilla.  But  I  think  they'd  rather  not  know 
where  they  are,  than  have  them  there. 

Gus.  Well,  almost  everybody  would,  but  a  wife. 
Those  boys  haven't  the  price  to  escape  from  the 
holy  bonds  of  matrimony. 

Camilla.    Isn't  that  terrible? 

Alma.  (Patting  the  pillow)  Quite  right  that  they 
have  to  pay ;  being  a  wife  unfits  a  girl  for  anything 
else.  They'd  be  able  to  take  care  of  themselves, 
girls  would,  if  men  would  let  them  alone. 

Gus.    That's  too  much  to  ask  of  us,  Alma,  it  is 

really (To  Camilla. J  .  Well,  I  read  all  about 

you  in  the  paper.  Junius  Patterson.  Did  you  know 
who  it  was  when  you  leaped  under  the  car?  Here, 
I've  been  carrying  it  around  ever  since.  (Taking 
paper  from  his  pocket.  Reads.)  "Junius  Patterson 
picked  up  the  limp  body  of  the  girl,  and  placing  it  in 
his  car,  hurried  to  the  nearest  hospital." 

Camilla.  Oh,  do  let  me  see.  How  exciting! 
And  to  think  it  was  me.  (She  takes  the  paper  and 
reads.) 

Gus.  (To  Alma  J  You  know  I  always  dreaded 
having  to  walk  by  a  place  like  this,  and  now  I  walk 
right  in,  as  though  it  was  Childs'.  Sit  around  while 
I'm  waiting  to  hear  how  the  kid  is„  invalids  run 
their  wheeled  chairs  right  over  my  feet,  and  I  never 
turn  a  hair — isn't  it  funny?  And  they  talk  about 
a  hospital  room,  it's  just  the  same  as  any  other  room 
— only  it's  clearer,  isn't  that  so? 

Alma.  Oh,  well,  all  the  rooms  aren't  like  this, 
you  know.  Mr.  Patterson  had  this  room  fixed  up,  to 
be  cheerful  when  she  came  to,  if  she  did. 

Gus.    Oh,  was  there  any  doubt  about  it? 

Alma.  Oh,  yes,  indeed.  You  can't  tell  at  first 
what  they're  going  to  do. 


*'BE  CALM,  CAMILLA"  29 

Camilla.  (A  little  excited)  But  how  can  a  man 
be  president  of  so  many  things  and  director  of  so 
many  more,  and  member  of  so  many  clubs,  and  yacht- 
owner  and  sportsman  ?  How  can  a  man  be  so  many 
things  at  once? 

Gus.  That's  easy ;  all  you've  got  to  do  is  get  to  be 
one  thing  first.  If  it's  big  enough,  you  can  spread 
right  out. 

Alma.   If  you're  big  enough,  you  mean 

Gus.    If  I'm  big  enough? 

Alma.    If  you're  a  man  like  Mr.  Patterson. 

Gus.  Well,  you  wouldn't  ask  me  to  be  quite  as 
big  as  that,  would  you  ?  Let  me  just  have  a  modest 
income  of  a  hundred  thousand  dollars,  and  work  up 
to  something  good  as  I  grow 'older.    ^Alma  laughs.) 

Camilla.    Alma  saw  him,  you  know. 

Gus.    Oh,  she  did. 

Alma.  Yes,  indeed  I  did.  And  he  was  in  this 
very  room,  he  didn't  care  for  it  much  either.  He 
made  me  promise  if  he  sent  the  things  I'd  fix  it 
up,  and  I  promised.  Just  for  that  I  got  a  twenty- 
dollar  bill. 

Gus.  My!  I'd  be  afraid  to  ask  you  to  fix  up 
anything  for  me.  ^Alma  laughs.)  Speaking  of  men 
with  large  incomes  and  limousines,  you  didn't  want 
to  see  old  Mac,  did  you  ? 

Camilla.  Mac?  From  the  hotel?  Of  course, 
where  is  he? 

Gus.    Why,  he's  downstairs  waiting  for  me. 

Camilla.    But  they  said  Mr.  Brownlow. 

Gus.     I  suppose  that's  his  calling  name. 

Camilla.  Oh,  but  I  would  love  to  see  him !  The 
dear  old  waiter,  Alma,  from  the  hotel  where  I  used 
to  live. 

Gus.    I'll  go  down  and  get  him. 

Alma.  No,  stay  where  you  are,  Mr.  Beals,  I'll 
let  him  up.     (Exits  Alma  l.) 


30  "BE  CALM,  CAMILLA" 

Gus.  Gee!  I  wish  I  could  get  stepped  on  by 
some  rich  lady  and  laid  up  in  a  place  like  this.  Is 
that  Mr.  Patterson's  pink  negligee,  too? 

Camilla.  (Nodding)  I've  never  sent  to  the  hotel 
for  anything.  There  was  nothing  to  send  for. 
Everything  you  could  think  of  was  here,  even  the 
little  handkerchief  to  cry  on.  I  don't  know  how  he 
ever  thought  of  the  things. 

Gus.    Maybe  his  wife. 

Camilla.  (After  a  moment)  Oh,  do  you  think 
he  is  married  ? 

Gus.    I  suppose  so,  don't  you  ? 

Camilla.  But  in  that  article  it  spoke  of  his  hav- 
ing all  those  other  things,  horses  and  yachts,  but  it 
didn't  speak  of  any  wives. 

Gus.  Well,  maybe  he's  only  got  one  and  they 
didn't  think  that  would  show  up  very  well — along 
with  the  other  large  supplies. 

Camilla.  Well,  probably  he  is  married;  it's  all 
right  if  he  is. 

Gus.  Yes,  nothing  against  him.  Probably  not 
his  fault. 

Camilla.  (With  confidence )  But  even  if  she 
picked  out  all  the  rest,  I'm  sure  he  bought  the  almond 
tree. 

Gus.  (Looking  at  it,  and  going  up  c.)  Is  that 
what  it  is  ?     Pretty. 

Camilla.  It's  not  what  a  wife  would  get;  she 
would  send  a  basket  of  something. 

Gus.     A  basket  of  vegetables,  perhaps. 

Camilla.    It  doesn't  look  womanly,  does  it? 

Gus.    Well,  it  doesn't  look  manly  either 

Camilla.  Oh,  but  it  does.  It  just  looks  to  me 
like  a  beautiful  pink  apology  from  a  man  to  a  girl 
he's  run  over. 

Gus.     Well,  perhaps  you're  right.     I  never  ran 


"BE   CALM,   CAMILLA"  31 

over  anybody,  so  I  don*t  know  whether  Td  begin 
to  throw  around  things  like  that  or  not. 

(Door  opens,  admitting  Alma  and  Mac.  Mac  has 
a  small  brozvn  paper  hag  in  one  hand;  it  con- 
tains a  little  bunch  of  arbutus,  but  this  is  not  dis- 
closed until  later.  Meanwhile,  he  is  troubled 
by  the  presence  of  the  bag,  shifting  it  from  one 
hand  to  the  other.) 

Camilla.  (As  he  approaches  timidly)  Mac,  Vm 
so  glad  to  see  you. 

Mac.  I  just  had  to  come,  Miss.  And  if  Vd  known 
where  you  were,  Vd  *a*  been  here  long  ago. 

(Gus  crosses  to  Alma  down  l.     Stands  with  back 
to  the  audience,  talking  to  her.) 

Camilla.  Sit  down,  Mac,  and  tell  me  how  are 
thirty-eight  and  forty-two  getting  along? 

Mac.  Indeed,  I  couldn't  tell  you,  Miss.  Fve  left 
the  Belle-Mary. 

Camilla.     Oh,  you  have? 

Mac.  Yes,  Miss,  and  but  for  my  meeting  him — 
Mr.  Beals — I  might  never  have  known  what  become 
of  you. 

Alma.     I  think  you'd  better  go,  Mr.  Beals 

Gus.  (To  Camilla^  Alma  says  I'm  going.  See 
you  to-morrow,  girlie !  (Starts  for  door  and  stops. 
Mac  rises  as  if  to  go  at  once.) 

Alma.  You  can  stay  a  little  while,  Mr.  Brown- 
low. 

Mac.  Thank  you.  Miss,  but  now  that  I've  seen 
her,  it's  all  right. 

Alma.  You  can  stay  until  the  doctor  comes  in. 
It'll  only  be  a  few  minutes  now.     (Alma  exits  zuith 


32  "BE  CALM,  CAMILLA" 

Gus.  He  has  her  arm  and  is  engaged  in  earnest 
conversation,) 

Camilla.  Sit  down,  Mac;  youVe  left  the  hotel, 
but  where  are  you — and  what  are  you  doing  ? 

Mac.  (Sitting  by  her  timidly,  on  chair  L.  of 
lounge)  Well,  Miss,  I  was  very  sick  the  night  you 
went  away — maybe  you  noticed  that  I  never  came 
back.  It  was  really  on  your  account.  Miss,  not  that 
I  blame  you  in  any  way 

Camilla.     Oh,  really?    What  happened? 

Mac.  I  emptied  the  bottle,  Miss — ^yes  indeed,  I 
did.     It  breaks  out  on  me  sometimes. 

Camilla.    (A  little  mystified)     The  bottle? 

Mac.  Yes,  Miss.  I  lost  my  job,  and  a  good 
thing,  too.  Miss.  For  the  Belle-Mary  was  no  place 
for  me,  no  more  than  it  was  for  you,  not  to  put  my- 
self with  you  in  any  way,  but  it  just  wasn't.  I  was 
meant  to  be  in  a  private  house.  Miss,  and  so  was 
you. 

Camilla.  No,  Mac,  no — I  think  I  was  meant  to 
be  in  a  hospital. 

Mac.  (Smiling)  Well,  indeed,  Miss,  I'm  happy 
to  see  you  in  such  a  nice  one,  it  ain't  like  some  I've 
been  in. 

Camilla.  You  must  tell  me,  Mac,  where  you're 
living  now. 

Mac.  I  will.  Miss ;  I'll  give  you  my  address,  so  if 
you  should  need  me  in  any  way  you'll  know  where  I 
am.  (Takes  out  zvaiter's  pad  and  pencil,  writes  and 
reads  aloud.)  "McNeil  Brownlow,  care  of  Allie 
Hannigan,  460  Eighth  Street,  East."  (Hands  it  to 
Camilla.) 

Camilla.    "Allie  Hannigan?"    Who  is  she,  Mac? 

Mac.  She's  my  brother's  wife,  Miss.  He's  gone 
some  years  now. 

Camilla.    Oh,  and  you're  staying  with  her. 

Mac.    Yes,  Miss.     I'd  not  been  there  in  a  good 


i 


K 


—  ^ 


m- 


/■ 


"BE  CALM,  CAMILLA"  33 

while,  but  she  knew  me  when  I  came  in.  I  was  a 
bit  wild  that  night,  Miss. 

Camilla.    Oh,  I  can't  imagine  it,  Mac. 

Mac.  Oh,  yes,  and  I  just  stayed  on  there — I'm 
taking  a  cure. 

Camilla.    Oh,  does  it  make  you  feel  better? 

Mac.  It's  all  right,  Miss.  She  puts  it  in  my  coffee, 
Allie  does.     Just  like  she  did  for  my  brother. 

Camilla.    And  did  it  cure  him  ? 

Mac.  Yes,  Miss.  He  never  took  a  drop  for  two 
months  before  he  died. 

Camilla.    But  he  did  die? 

Mac.  Twasn't  what  she  gave  him,  no,  Miss.  He 
fell  off  a  truck,  when  he  was  as  sober  as  I  am. 

Camilla.  Oh,  I'm  glad.-  I  mean  I'm  glad  it 
wasn't  what  she  gave  him. 

Mac.  No,  Miss,  it's  just  a  harmless  thing  like 
bird-seed,  she  puts  it  in  the  coffee. 

Camilla.    But  doesn't  it  spoil  the  coffee? 

Mac.  Well,  Miss,  I'm  not  saying  I'll  ever  feel 
quite  the  same  to  coffee  again.  Not  that  it  tastes 
different,  but  I  know  the  cure  is  in  it. 

Camilla.    Mac,  what  have  you  in  that  little  bag? 

Mac.  I  don't  know  whether  to  give  it  to  you  or 
not,  Miss.  It's  just  a  little  bunch  of  flowers  I  bought 
on  the  street. 

Camilla.  Is  that  what  smells  so  sweet  ?    Oh 1 

(As  he  takes  it  out.)  Trailing  arbutus — the  woods ! 
Oh!  How  heavenly.  (A  tap  on  the  door.)  Oh,  I 
guess  that's  the  doctor,  Mac!  Will  you  go  see? 
fMAc  goes  to  door  and  admits  Junius  Patterson.^ 

('Junius  goes  to  Camilla  and  stands  looking  down 
at  her.) 

Junius.   Well,  how's  the  patient  ? 

Camilla.     Oh,  Doctor,  she's  perfectly  splendid. 


34  "BE   CALM,   CAMILLA" 

only  afraid  that  you'll  send  her  away,  she's  so  well. 

Mac.    (Over  l.)    I'll  just  be  going.  Miss 

Camilla.  Good-by,  Mac.  And  don't  forget  me, 
and  I  won't  forget  you.  Doctor,  this  is  the  dear, 
kind  waiter  from  the  hotel  where  I  lived.  He  used 
to  bring  me  in  things  to  eat  that  belonged  to  other 
people ;  yes,  he  did,  really ! 

Mac.  That's  all  right,  Miss.  I  wish  I  could  do 
it  again.  Good-bye,  sir.  I  hope  she  will  have  the 
grandest  health,  and  all  that  a  lovely  lady  like  her- 
self deserves.  A  private  house.  Miss,  that's  the 
place ! 

Camilla.  Good-bye,  dear  Mac!  ('Mac  exits  l.i.e.J 
Well,  Doctor,  what  do  you  want  me  to  tell  you? 

Junius.  (After  looking  at  her  a  moment.  He 
sits  chair  l.  of  lounge  R.c.)    Just — did  it  hurt  you? 

Camilla.  (Surprised)  Oh — the — ^the — the — ^ac- 
cident ? 

Junius.  Yes,  the  accident.  Did  you  know  about 
it?    Did  you — did  it  hurt  you? 

Camilla.  I  don't  know.  I've  forgotten — ^but  I 
remember  that  I  thought  it  was  perfectly  splendid. 

Junius.     Oh,  no. 

Camilla.   Yes.    I'll  tell  you  why,  shall  I?^ 

Junius.  Please  do.  You  were  crossing  the 
street 

Camilla.  Yes.  I  was  crossing  the  street,  and  I 
was  sort  of  faint.  I  hadn't  had  my  dinner  yet,«and 
I  hadn't  had  time  to  have  any  lunch — ^but  I  didn't 
realize  how  faint  I  was.  To  tell  the  truth— shall  I 
tell  you  the  truth? 

Junius.  Yes,  if  you  don't  mind.  I  wish  you 
would. 

Camilla.  Well,  I'd  just  had  a  great  disappoint- 
ment— because  I  thought  I  was  going  to  have  an  en- 
gagement to  sing  in  a  restaurant.  That  seems  a  ter- 
rible thing  to  be  glad  about— but  I  was,  and  then  I 


"BE  CALM,   CAMILLA"  35 

heard  they  didn't  want  me — and  I  went  out  for  a 
little  walk — to  think  things  over.  It  was  just  at 
sunset 

Junius.    Yes. 

Camilla.  And  on  a  cross  street  there  came  this 
glorious  thing 

Junius.     Yes.    You  mean 

Camilla.  I  mean,  this  golden  car — ^that  was  what 
it  looked  like  to  me — and  larger  than  any  car  in  the 
world — and  getting  larger  all  the  time,  and  golden — 
I  thought — Doctor,  you  will  laugh  at  me — but  I  was 
faint  and  sort  of  not  responsible — I  thought  it  was 
Phoebus  Apollo — come  down  for  me! 

Junius.     (Smiling)     Why,  you  dear  child. 

Camilla.  It  was  really  Mf.  Junius  Patterson  on 
his  way  to  the  ferryboat,  in  the  sunset. 

Junius.  Well,  tell  me — did  you  rush  to  meet 
Phoebus,  or  how  did  it  happen? 

Camilla.  I  don't  know.  There  was  a  glorious 
crash.  The  car  seemed  to  leap  at  me.  I  might  have 
rushed  a  little — I  really  don't  remember. 

Junius.  I  see — and  you  were  feeling  badly  be- 
cause they  wouldn't  let  you  sing  in  a  restaurant. 
What  sort  of  restaurant? 

Camilla.  Oh !  Just  a  little  Italian  place — ^but  it 
would  have  been  nice,  because  they  would  have  given 
me  my  dinner,  and  no  one  would  have  known  about 
it. 

Junius.  Oh,  you  wouldn't  have  wanted  anyone  to 
know  about  it. 

Camilla.  No,  I  would  have  felt  terribly  dis- 
graced, you  see,  because  I  wanted  to  do  something 
so  different.  But  I  don't  think  I  can  do  that  either. 
(Her  voice  trails  off.) 

Junius.    Well,  you  sing,  do  you? 

Camilla.    No,  I  don't. 


36  "BE  CALM,   CAMILLA" 

Junius.  But  I  thought  you  were  going  to  sing 
in  the  restaurant? 

Camila.  Well,  they  didn't  mind  my  not  being 
able  to.  But,  Doctor,  a  very  strange  thing  has  hap- 
pened. I  want  to  ask  you  about  this.  I  wonder — 
I  wonder  if  you  can  do  anything  about  it. 

Junius.    I'm  sure  I  can,  what  is  it? 

Camilla.  Well,  when  I  was  quite  out  of  my 
head — here  in  the  hospital — I  sang,  the  nurse  says, 
in  a  lovely,  high  voice.  Now,  where  do  you  suppose 
it  is? 

Junius.    Why,  right  where  it  was. 

Camilla.    But  it  never  was. 

Junius.  You  did  sing,  though  at  times,  when 
you  were  conscious,  didn't  you? 

Camilla.  Only  like  this — (singing) — "I  know  the 
world  is  a  wonderful  world."  Now,  that  isn't  lovely, 
is  it?     It  isn't  high. 

Junius.    It  may  not  be  high,  but  it  is  lovely. 

Camilla.   But  I  want  it  to  be  high. 

Junius.  Well,  as  soon  as  you're  well  enough, 
we'll  have  it  made  high. 

Camilla.  Oh,  doctor.  (Putting  her  hand  on  his 
arm.)  How  wonderful  you  are!  I  like  you,  yes  I 
do — just  as  much  as  my  dear  gray  doctor.  (She 
sniffs  the  arbutus.)  Doctor,  isn't  this  heavenly? 
Isn't  it  just  the  breath  of  the  woods? 

Junius.   Isn't  it  ?    Do  you  love  the  woods  ? 

Camilla.  Oh,  the  woods — ^to  lie  and  listen,  to  the 
things  that  are  being  said  in  the  tree-tops !  (Returns 
to  arbutus.)  My  dear  old  waiter  brought  me  this, 
and  Doctor,  I  wish  something  could  be  done  for  him. 

Junius.   What  do  you  want  done  for  him  ? 

Camilla.  Well,  aren't  there  any  nice  cures  that 
people  can  take,  that  don't  spoil  their  coffee? 

Junius.  (Amused)  Why,  it  seems  as  if  there 
must  be,  doesn't  it  ?   He's  taking  a  cure  in  his  coflFee  ? 


"BE  CALM,  CAMILLA"  37 

Camilla.  Yes,  he — well  he  drinks,  you  know — 
not  all  the  time.  He's  been  perfectly  sober  for 
weeks  at  the  hotel.  All  the  time  I  was  there,  until 
the  night  I  left,  and  I  do  think  Tm  responsible  for 
his  taking  it  up  again.  You  see — he  was  worried 
about  me. 

Junius.    Well  then,  we'll  do  something  for  him. 

Camilla.  (Delighted)  Really  ?  Oh,  how  wonder- 
ful it  must  be  to  be  like  you.  Think  of  being  able  to 
promise  all  that  you've  promised  me.  When  am  I  go- 
ing to  see  you  again  though  ?  Because  my  dear,  gray 
doctor  will  be  back  to-morrow. 

Junius.  So  will  /.  (The  door  opens  and  Alma 
comes  in  with  tnedicine.  Sets  it  on  table  l.  of  bed 
L.c.  She  looks  pleased  and  surprised  to  see  Pat- 
terson.^    Must  I  go?     (Rising,) 

Alma.  No,  sir;  you  don't  need  to  go  yet.  The 
Doctor  has  been  detained. 

Camilla.  The  Doctor !  (Looking  up  at  Junius,  j 
But  you — I  thought  you— aren't  you — the  Doctor  ? 

Alma.    No,  dear,  this  is  Mr.  Patterson !  (Exit  l.) 

Camilla.   Then  you,  you 

Junius.  Forgive  me,  won't  you !  (Sitting  by  her.) 

Camilla.  Why,  of  course.  (Taking  her  little 
handkerchief  and  putting  it  to  her  eyes.)  But  I  don't 
know  what  to  say  to  you. 

Junius.  I  thought  perhaps  you  might  not,  and 
that  was  why  I  was  glad  you  thought  I  was  the  doc- 
tor. Because,  you've  told  him  a  lot  of  things,  haven't 
you,  that  you  would  never  have  told  me. 

Camilla.  But,  oh!  I  have  so  much  to  thank  you 
for. 

Junius.  (Moved)  Oh  no,  my  dear — don't  say  that ! 

Camilla.  Oh,  yes,  I  have.  I've  had  such  a 
happy  time  in  this  room  you  fixed  for  me,  and  most 
of  all  I  want  to  thank  you  for  the  beautiful  almond 
tree. 


38  "BE  CALM,   CAMILLA" 

Junius.    Oh,  did  you  like  it? 

Camilla.  I  could  never  tell  you  how  much.  You 
— you  did  buy  it  for  me,  didn't  you? 

Junius.    Of  course.     Who  did  you  think? 

Camilla.  Oh,  I  thought  you  did — but — someone 
who  was  here,  said  it  might  have  been  your  wife. 
(Looking  at  him  gently.) 

Junius.  (After  a  moment)  No.  Mrs.  Patterson 
is  not  in  the  city  at  present. 

Camilla.  (Softly)  Oh !  (After  a  little  moment 
of  disappointment  at  learning  he  has  a  zvife.)    Then 

you  are  responsible   for  everything,  even  this 

(Touching  the  gown.)      And   this (The  little 

handkerchief.) 

Junius.  Yes,  in  a  way.  Though  I  never  saw 
them  face  to  face,  as  I  did  the  almond-tree.  A  very 
pleasant  gray-haired  lady  picked  them  out. 

Camilla.  (Naively)  Oh,  I'm  glad  her  hair  was 
gray.    Not  that  it  matters  now. 

Junius.     (Amused,  but  indulgent)    You  like  the 

woods,   you   said ^Alma   enters  with  spoon.) 

Now  that  you're  better,  I  think  we'll  take  you  up 
there.  (Turning  to  Alma. J  Wouldn't  that  be  a 
good  idea,  nurse? 

Alma.  It  would  do  her  a  lot  of  good,  Mr.  Pat- 
terson. 

Junius.  Yes,  I  think  so.  My  house  is  open,  up 
on  the  lake — I  don't  get  up  there  very  much,  but  it's 
beautiful.  You  could  go  up  there,  couldn't  you? 
(To  Alma.J 

Alma.  I  wouldn't  wonder,  sir.  I  could  take  my 
vacation. 

Junius.  Yes,  for  she'd  want  someone  she  knew 
with  her.  And  I'll  be  up  there  once  in  a  while. 
(With  a   smile  at  Camilla.^     Will  you  go  ? 

Camilla.  (Softly)  Yes,  yes,  I  will — for  you  are, 
Phoebus  Apollo! 


"BE  CALM,   CAMILLA"  39 

Junius.  (Rising)  And  I  promise  that  I'll  drive 
very  carefully  in  future.  (He  takes  her  hand  and 
after  looking  at  her  for  a  moment  stoops  and  kisses 
it.  He  goes  to  the  door  accompanied  by  Alma. 
Is  she  tired  of  roses? 

Alma.  No,  sir,  she  loves  them!  (^Patterson 
exits.  Repeating  to  herself  after  his  exit.)  Is  she 
tired  of  roses?    (Returning.)    My!  Isn't  he  grand? 

Camilla.    (Softly)    But,  Alma — he  is  married! 

Alma.    I  know  it. 

Camilla.  I  thought  his  face  looked  sad,  Alma, 
when  he  spoke  of  his  wife. 

Alma.  Well,  maybe  it  did — ^lots  of  men's  faces 
look  sad  when  they  speak,  of  their  wives.  I'm  going 
to  ask  Dr.  Greer  about  him.  He  knows  all  the 
swell  scandal!  (Looking  at  Camilla. J  I  think  I'll 
put  you  back  to  bed.  (Turns  down  the  covers  on 
bed.) 

Camilla.  Alma,  we  are  grown  women,  we  must 
not  deceive  ourselves. 

Alma.    Who's  deceiving  themselves? 

Camilla.   Isn't  he  a  man  of  the  world,  Alma  ? 

Alma.    Why,  yes,  I  suppose  he  is. 

Camilla.  And  he  knows  I'm  a  woman  of  the 
world,  because  I  told  him  I  was  going  to  sing  in  a 
restaurant. 

Alma.  Don't  be  worrying  about  all  those  things — 
think  of  him  taking  you  up  to  those  beautiful  woods ! 

Camilla.  I  am  thinking  about  it !  (Crossing  her 
hands  on  her  breast.)    Be  calm,  Camilla! 


CURTAIN 


ACT  II 


Scene  I 

Time:    A  month  later. 

Place:  Junius  Patterson's  house,  Camp  Wilder- 
ness, in  the  Adirondacks. 

Scene:  The  living-room  looking  out  on  the  lake. 
This  room  is  finished  in  cedar  wood.  A  large 
door  opens  on  a  veranda  up  stage  l.  The  win- 
dows have  windozv-seats  and  cushions.  A  stone 
fireplace  c.  with  deep,  comfortable  chairs.  A 
library  table*  of  wood  like  the  walls — hand- 
some Indian  rugs  on  floor  and  walls.  A 
baby-grand  piano,  near  this  the  almond  tree;  its 
blossoms  gone. 

On  Rise  :  Mac  discovered  taking  letters  and  news- 
papers out  of  a  little  leather  bag — he  arranges 
the  papers  on  table.  There  are  also  magazines 
in  the  bag.  There  is  a  davenport  down  stage 
c.  facing  the  fireplace  up  c.  There  is  a  bench 
in  front  of  the  davenport. 

Alma.  (Coming  briskly  down  the  stairs)  Mac, 
it's  time  for  her  egg  and  she's  not  back — I  wish 
you'd  go  down  to  the  lake  and  call. 

Mac.  (Over  l.  at  table)  1  was  just  down  there, 
Miss  Robins — Burkhardt  is  teaching  her  to  paddle. 

Alma.  (Standing  up  c.)  Mercy — what  is  there 
in  that — ^but  to  take  off  your  shoes  and  stockings? 

40 


"BE  CALM,  CAMILLA'*  41 

Mac.  No— to  paddle  the  canoe— it*s  quite  a  trick. 
First  on  one  side  and  then  on  the  other — as  though 
you  never  were  able  to  decide  which.  Now  row- 
ing— there's  something  about  that  I  can  understand, 
but  to  paddle — believe  me — is  a  trick. 

Alma.  Go  back  and  call  her,  will  you,  Mac?  I'd 
go  myself,  but  I  can't  in  these  slippers.  The  pine 
needles  go  right  through  and  prick  my  feet  some- 
thing awful. 

Mac.  All  right,  Miss  Robins.  (Enter  Gus  Beals. 
He  stands  in  doorway  of  veranda  l.u.e.J 

Gus.   Is  this  Camp  Wilderness  ? 

Alma.  (Looking  at  him  surprised  and  pleased) 
Why,  Mr.  Beals — it's  never  you ! 

Gus.  How's  the  queen  of  the  nurses?  (Crosses 
to  her,  shakes  hands.) 

Alma.  Why,  Mr.  Beals — how  did  you  ever  get 
away  up  here? 

Gus.  The  little  old  railroad  train,  Alma — and 
then  the  buckboards  and  rowboats,  and  so  forth,  all 
working  over  time  finally  landed  G.  Beals  at  your 
door. 

Alma,  (tsl,)  Well,  it's  fine  to  see  you!  Isn't  it, 
Mac? 

Mac.  ("l.  with  a  tinge  of  anxiety)  It  is  indeed, 
sir,  I'm  sure. 

Gus.  (c.)  My  four  trunks  will  arrive  a  little 
later.  (Seeing  Mac's  alarmed  expression.)  Some 
private  house — eh,  Mac? 

Mac.    (i..)    Yes,  sir,  it — er — it  is. 

Gus.  Well,  say,  don't  be  alarmed — if  you're  full 
up,  I  can  sleep  right  in  here  and  keep  the  trunks  on 
the  front  porch. 

Mac.  (Greatly  distressed)  That  would  be  all 
right,  sir,  only  you  see — in  the  absence  of  Mr. 
Patterson 

Gus.     Cheer  up,  Mac,  I've  struck  camp  on  the 


42  "BE   CALM,   CAMILLA" 

other  side  of  the  lake.  Just  dropped  in  to  say 
"Hello" — I'm  not  going  to  stay. 

Mac.  Why,  we'd  be  glad  to  have  you,  sir,  it  was 
only  the  four  trunks  made  it  look  a  little  serious — 
you  couldn't  very  well  have  them  on  a  private  porch, 
you  see,  sir. 

Gus.  It's  too  many  even  for  a  tent — I  thought  so 
myself — so  I  dropped  all  four  of  'em  in  the  lake — 
just  kept  my  suitcase. 

Mac.    Well,  really,  sir — ^you  can't  mean  that? 

Alma.  Mr.  Beals,  you  certainly  can  kid  to  beat 
the  cars. 

Gus.   Speaking  of  kids — how's  little  Eva? 

Alma.  Oh,  she's  just  fine,  Mr.  Beals — she  looks 
so  well,  doesn't  she,  Mac? 

Mac.  Oh,  yes,  she's  beginning  to  show  care  now, 
sir. 

Gus.    She  is,  eh? 

Mac.  Private  table,  you  know,  sir — chops  and 
steaks  and  the  right  cut — that's  what  does  it. 

Alma.  Wait  till  I  change  my  slippers,  Mr.  Beals, 
and  I'll  go  down  to  the  lake  with  you  and  find  her. 

Gus.    What's  the  matter  with  those? 

Alma.  Why,  the  pine  needles  come  right  through 
and  prick  my  feet. 

Gus.    Why,  the  saucy  little  things! 

Alma.  I  won't  be  a  minute.    (Runs  up  the  stairs.) 

Gus.  (Glancing  at  piano)  Well,  Mac — I'm  glad 
to  see  you've  got  a  piano  that  didn't  come  from  the 
Stumph  Piano  Works.     (Sits  piano  bench  R.j 

Mac.  Yes,  sir.  It's  a  private  piano,  you  know, 
sir.     (Gently.) 

Gus.  (Quite  serious)  I  supposed  so — how  does 
this  place  compare  with  the  other  private  houses 
where  you've  worked,  Mac?  As  to  privacy,  you 
know? 

Mac.  (Solemnly)  Why,  sir — Mr.  Beals — ^you  talk 


"BE  CALM,  CAMILLA"  43 

about  privacy.     I  never  was  in  anything  like  it — 
there's  no  end  to  it. 

Gus.     You  don't  say. 

Mac.  Why,  we've  our  own  private  dock,  boat- 
house,  garage,  refrigerating  plant  and  vegetable  gar- 
den  

Gus.  Too  soon,  I  suppose,  to  have  anything  in 
the  garden. 

Mac.    Well,  there's  two  men  in  it,  sir. 

Gus.    Well,  they're  up  early,  aren't  they? 

Mac.  I  see  that  they  are,  sir.  My  father  was  a 
gardener  and  I  know  that  to  pulverize  the  soil  at 
this  season  of  the  year  makes  a  big  difference  in 
the  garden. 

Gus.  (Rising)  You  haven't  seen  this  new  private 
pulverizer  they've  got,  I  suppose? 

Mac.    No,  sir 

Gus.  Runs  by  electricity — ^you  have  to  have  your 
own  private  electric  plant,  of  course — it's  pretty  ex- 
pensive. You  just  start  the  motor  working  and  the 
pulverizer  darts  off  into  the  vegetable  garden. 
There  it  runs  around  in  circles 

Mac.    Circles  ? 

Gus.  Ever  smaller — until  the  whole  garden  is  pul- 
verized— when  it  spins  around  by  its  own  volition, 
and  comes  to  a  complete  private  stop. 

]\^AC.    I  see. 

WARN  telephone, 

Gus.    It's  a  great  invention. 

Mac  Yes,  sir — ^but  these  men  ain't.  They  ain't 
good  for  anything  else — so  why  not  let  them  do 
it?  Their  hand  can  pulverize  as  good  as  a  machine, 
and  save  all  that  expense. 

Gus.  That's  right.  It's  even  better  if  you  can 
get  them  to  chew  the  dirt  up  and  spit  it  out.  It  don't 
sound  very  nice — but  it  lubricates  the  garden — and 
you  get  a  bigger  crop,  I've  heard. 


44  "BE   CALM,   CAMILLA" 

Mac.  Mr.  Beals,  I  hope  all  this  time  you  haven't 
been 

Gus.  Not  me,  Mac — Fm  serious  when  I  get 
started  on  this  country  stuff.  Because  what  would 
we  do  without  vegetables,  human  and  every  other 
kind.     ('Alma  returns.) 

Mac.    Human,  sir? 

Alma.  (In  a  sweater  and  cap)  Tm  ready, 
Mr.  Beals 

Gus.  (Looking  at  her  admiringly)  My — I  think 
the  chops  and  steaks  are  telling  on  the  Queen  of 
the  Nurses,  too. 

^Alma  and  Gus  exit.  Mac  hums  a  little  as  he  takes 
magazines  from  mail-bag,  removes  wrappers 
and  arranges  on  the  table.     Phone  rings.) 

TELEPHONE. 

Mac.  (Going)  Yes — ^yes.  Camp  Wilderness.  Oh, 
she's  not  here  just  now,  can  I  take  the  message?  A 
telegram — perhaps  you'd  better  wait,  yes.  Is  it 
from  Mr.  Patterson?  It  might  be  a  private  tele- 
gram. I  understand — she  will  ring  you  as  soon  as 
she  comes  in.     Yes,  thank  you. 

(Enter  Camilla  from  veranda  l.c.^ 

Camilla.  Mac,  what  do  you  think — I  trotted  all 
the  way  up  the  wood  road  from  the  lake 

Mac.     (i..)    Did  you  indeed,  Miss? 

Camilla.  ('l.c.J  Mac — don't  be  so  calm  about  it! 
Wait  and  see  how  Alma  looks  when  I  tell  her — 
why  I  couldn't  have  trotted  an  eighth  of  the  way 
when  I  came  up  here,  Mac — I  said  trotted,  did  you 
hear  me? 

Mac.    Yes,  Miss,  it's  fine. 


"BE  CALM,  CAMILLA"  45 

Camilla.  Why,  it's  magnificent — it's  unheard  of ! 
(Calling  with  spirit.  Crossing  over  rJ  Alma! 
Where's  my  egg? 

Mac.  Alma,  she's  not  here.  Miss — so  many  things 
have  happened  since  you  were  out — Mr.  Patterson 
sent  you  a  telegram,  Miss. 

Camilla.   Where  is  it?    (r.  comes  below  sofa  c.) 

Mac.  Over  the  phone — you're  to  ring,  Miss — I 
didn't  take  it,  of  course. 

Camilla.  (Going  to  phone  on  table  L.)  I  want 
344  A.    Oh,  busy!    Will  you  call  me,  please? 

Mac.     And  Mr.  Beals  came.  Miss. 

Camilla.    No — not  Mr.  Beals,  Mac? 

Mac.    Yes,  Miss,  the  same — our  Mr.  Beals. 

Camilla.    But  where  is  he? 

Mac.  They  went  down  to  the  lake  after  you,  Miss. 
Him  and  Miss  Robins,  but  I  suppose  you  coming 
the  wood  road  they  missed  you. 

CMrs.  Brooke  and  Pell  at  door  l.u.  Mrs. 
Brooke  is  an  attractive  brunette,  about  twenty- 
eight  years  old;  Pell,  her  escort,  is  about  the 
same  age.) 

Mrs.  Brooke.  (To  PellJ  Why,  the  house  is 
densely  occupied.  (To  Camilla.^  Pardon  me — 
but  I'm  so  surprised  to  find  anyone  here. 

Camilla.  (Down  r.  Embarrassed  sweetly) 
Really?    Well,  so  am  I  .  .  . 

Mrs.  Brooke.  (As  they  enter,  L.c.j  I'm  really 
not  a  housebreaker — ^you  see (Showing  key- 
ring.)   I  had  the  key,  but  the  door  was  open. 

Camilla.   Can  I — can  I  do  anything  for  you  ? 

Mrs.  Brooke.    Why,  I  don't  know 

Camilla.    Well — ^how  can  we  find  out  ? 

Mrs.  Brooke.  I  am  Mrs.  Brooke — and  this  is 
Mr.  Pell 


46  "BE  CALM,   CAMILLA" 

Camilla.    How  do  you  do. 

Pell.    How  do  you  do? 

Mrs.  Brooke.    Now,  tell  me  who  you  are? 

Camilla.  Well,  I  don't  think  you'd  know  me  if 
I  did — my  name  is  Hathaway. 

Mrs.  Brooke.  Well,  no — that  doesn't  convey  any- 
thing to  me — except  distant  memories  of  Shake- 
speare.    Your  first  name  isn't  Anne,  by  any  chance  ? 

Camilla.    No,  Camilla. 

Mrs.  Brooke.  Camilla  Hathaway?  (Glancing  at 
Pell.    Turns  to  him.) 

Pell.  Oh,  you're  the  little  girl  that  was  in  the 
accident. 

Camilla.    Yes.    I  ran  into  Mr.  Patterson's  car. 

Mrs.  Brooke.    But  it  said  a  little  girl. 

Pell.    Well,  that  was  poetic  license. 

Mrs.  Brooke.  How  very  interesting!  Well,  to 
be  quite  frank,  I  came  up  here  to  open  the  house 
and  spend  a  few  days 

Mac.  (Down  l.  near  table.  To  himself)  A  priv- 
ate house — hm. 

Mrs.  Brooke.  Yes — I  am  a  very  old  friend  of 
Mr.  Patterson's. 

Camilla.  (Embarrassed)  Oh — well — I'm  just  a 
young  friend. 

Mrs.  Brooke.  And  a  very  old  friend  of  Mrs. 
Patterson's. 

Camilla.   I  haven't  met  her  at  all. 

Mrs.  Brooke.  In  fact,  it  was  on  her  account 
that  I  came  up,  really — she  wanted  me  to  get  some 
things  that  she  left  up  here  some  time  ago. 

Camilla.  Oh,  I  see.  Dear  me — I  hope  it  isn't  the 
mirror  and  buttonhook  I  found  on  my  dressing- 
table,  because  they've  both  seemed  to  kind  of  drop 
to  pieces. 

Mrs.  Brooke.     It  was  books  and  letters  mostly. 


"BE  CALM,   CAMILLA"  47 

And  Fve  brought  three  servants  with  me — really,  I 
don't  know  what  to  do  about  it. 

Camilla.  Really,  /  don't.  I  was  just  put  here, 
you  see,  with  my  nurse  and  told  to  stay 

Mrs.  Brooke.  Oh,  with  your  nurse.  Mr.  Patter- 
son doesn't  come  up  here  at  all? 

Camilla.  Well,  he  brought  me  up — and  he — does 
come  once  in  a  while. 

TELEPHONE. 

Mrs.  Brooke.    Oh (Phone  rings.) 

Mac.  It's  the  private  wire,  Miss — the  telegram 
from  Mr.  Patterson,  I  guess.  (He  stands  on  guard.) 

Camilla.  (Going  to  phone)  Yes — yes,  this  is 
Camp  Wilderness — this  is  Miss  Hathaway — all  right, 
I'll  wait. 

Mrs.  Brooke.  (To  Macj   Are  you  the  er 

Mac.    Mr.  Patterson's  private  house  man. 

Mrs.  Brooke.    And  er — what  is  your  name? 

Mac.    Brownlow,  ma'am. 

Mrs.  Brooke.  Well,  perhaps  you'll  look  out  for 
my  servants,  Brownlow 

Mac.     W^here  are  they,  ma'am? 

Mrs.  Brooke.  They'll  be  here  presently — they're 
coming  in  a  motor  with  my  trunks. 

Mac.  What  would  you  like  done  with  'em,  ma'am  ? 

Mrs.  Brooke.  Well,  find  room  for  them  in  the 
servant's  quarters,  if  you  can,  Brownlow.  Have 
you  a  good  cook?  Because  if  you  haven't,  Maggie 
is  splendid — and  you're  welcome  to  use  her. 

Mac.  So  far  there  have  been  no  complaints  of  the 
cook,  ma'am.  He's  a  Japanee — eighty  dollars  a 
month. 

Mrs.  Brooke.  How  unfortunate — my  Maggie 
hates  Japanese. 

Mac.    Yes,  ma'am.  Our  Koko  hates  everybody. 

Mrs.  Brooke.  Then  there's  Louis,  my  maid — ^and 
Mr.  Pell's  man.     Be  nice  to  them,  Brownlow,  will 


48  "BE   CALM,   CAMILLA" 

you  ?    Just  till  we  know  where  we  are.    (To  Pell. j 
Baxter — something  for  Brownlow. 

Pell.  Why,  certainly.  (Taking  hill  from  roll 
purse.  Mac,  affecting  not  to  notice,  moves  away, 
exits  L.E.j    I  guess  he  doesn't  see  very  well. 

Camilla.    (Into  phone)    Will  you  read  it,  please? 

Mrs.  Brooke.  What  a  ridiculous  situation,  Bax- 
ter.    (Crosses  and  sits  on  piano  bench.) 

Pell.  Is  it  ?  (Crosses  and  sits  on  arm  of  daven- 
port.) 

Mrs.  Brooke,    (r.)    Well — don't  you  think  so? 

Pell,   (r.c.)   I  don't  know — it  seems  awful  to  me. 

Mrs.  Brooke.  Don't  be  absurd.  June's  got  this 
girl  up  here — of  course,  he'll  be  furious  with  me 
for  finding  it  out — ^but  what  can  he  do  ?  He's  been 
up  here.     They  came  up  together — she  said  so. 

Pell.    And  we're  up  here,  together. 

Mrs.  Brooke.  Yes — but  that's  different.  I've 
done  as  I  pleased  for  years — everybody  knows  it 
and  people  have  stopped  talking. 

Pell.    I  didn't  know  people  ever  did. 

Mrs.  Brooke.    Well,  they  do. 

Pell.  I  wonder  if  they've  stopped  talking  about 
me. 

Camilla.  Tell  me  the  date  again — ^then  that's  to- 
day.    Thank  you ^good-bye.     ("Alma  and   Gus 

enter,  they  stand  still  until  Camilla  turns  L.    Going 
to  him.)    Why,  Mr.  Beals — how  do  you  do! 

Gus.     (c.)    Fine,  kid. 

Camilla,    (l.c.)    Alma,  you  forgot  my  egg. 

Alma.    I  didn't. 

Camilla.  (Turning  to  the  others)  Er — Mrs. 
Brooke  and  Mr.  Pell — Mr.  Beals  and  Alma. 

Gus.    Pleased  to  meet  you. 

Mrs.  Brooke.  If  you  don't  mind,  I'll  go  and 
freshen  up  a  little.  I  know  my  way  about  the 
house.    I  suppose  you're  not  using  Mrs.  Patter- 


"BE  CALM,   CAMILLA"  49 

son's  room.  Til  take  that.  (To  Pell.;  Don't  you 
want  to  see  the  house,  Baxter?  It's  charming  up- 
stairs— every  room  has  a  sleeping-porch. 

Alma.  (Pleasantly)  Oh — have  you  come  to  stay? 
(Crossing  and  goes  upstairs.  r.cJ  I  didn't  under- 
stand.    I'll  show  you  which  rooms  are  vacant 

CMrs.  Brooke,  Pell  and  Alma  exit  up  stairway,) 

Camilla.     Isn't  Alma  magnificent? 

Gus.    She  is.    (Mac  enters  l.c.; 

Mac.  Asking  your  pardon,  Miss,  for  anything  I 
may  say — I  nearly  dropped  when  that  lady  came  in, 
Miss.  She's  brought  three  servants  and  walks  right 
into  a  private  house  without  being  invited. 

Gus.  What?  You  don't  say.  She's  worse  than 
I  am. 

Mac.  Why,  yes,  sir — that's  what  she  does,  with 
the  gentleman.  And  asks  me  if  our  cook  is  satis- 
factory ! 

Gus.  And  she's  gone  upstairs  to  freshen  up  a  lit- 
tle.    Say — what  will  she  be  when  she  comes  down? 

Camilla.  He's  coming,  Mac.  Mr.  Patterson  is 
coming. 

Mac.    Is  he,  Miss — when? 

Camilla.  To-day — do  you  suppose  he'll  mind 
their  being  here  ? 

Mac.  I'm  sure  he  will.  Miss — but  how  could  we 
keep  them  out — ^you  can't  keep  the  doors  of  even  a 
private  house  shut  this  time  of  year.  Besides,  she 
had  the  key — she  says.  If  you'll  excuse  me.  Miss — 
I'll  go  and  report  to  quarters  about  those  servants — 
they'll  be  here,  I  suppose,  any  minute  now.  And 
Koko  in  a  terrible  temper — after  making  a  cake 
with  your  initials  on  it  in  frosted  pecans.  Miss. 

Camilla.  Oh,  really,  Mac?  It  just  seems  to  be 
one  of  those  days  when  everything  happens !  (Exit 
Mac.J 

Gus.    (Sits  on  l.  arm  of  davenport)    Well,  kid — 


50  "BE  CALM,  CAMILLA" 

not  to  be  disturbed  by  all  the  scandal  in  high  life. 
How  are  you  ? 

Camilla.  (Over  rJ  Oh,  splendid,  but  what  do 
you  mean  by  the  scandal  in  high  life? 

Gus.  Well,  those  nice  folks  that  dropped  in,  they 
don't  seem  to  have  the  same  name  or  anything;  in 
my  ignorant  way,  I  scent  a  scandal 

Camilla.    Oh,  I  thought  perhaps  you  meant  me! 

Gus.  You !  Quit  your  kidding.  Who  could  sus- 
pect you  of  anything  like  that? 

Camilla.  You  mean  you  couldn't  imagine  any- 
one caring  enough  for  me — to  make  a  scandal? 

Gus.  Say,  didn't  I  care  enough  for  you  myself  to 
ask  you  to  marry  me?  That  would  have  been  a 
scandal  all  right. 

Camilla.  I  know,  but  that  was  because  you  were 
sorry  for  me. 

Gus.   Say,  what's  the  matter  with  you,  kid  ? 

Camilla.     I  don't  know. 

Gus.    Aren't  you  happy? 

Camilla.  I'm  so  happy  and  so  unhappy — I  don't 
know  what  to  do.  ,  .  . 

Gus.    Don't  he  treat  you  right,  kid? 

Camilla.  He's  wonderful,  perfectly  wonderful. 
I  don't  know  whether  he  treats  me  right  or  not 

Gus.  Well,  he  hasn't  taken  advantage  of  your 
being  kind  of  dependent  on  him,  has  he?  (Pauses.) 
Of  course,  I  know  he's  a  great  man,  but  even  a  great 
man  can  get  fresh  with  a  girl 

Camilla.    He  treats  me — like  a  child. 

Gus.    Good.     I'm  glad  of  it. 

Camilla.    But  I'm  not  a  child,  am  I? 

Gus.  Well,  you're  awfully -young,  kid.  A  fellow 
feels — the  down  is  on  the  peach  with  you. 

Camilla.    Is  that  any  objection? 

Gus.    Objection?    I  should  say  not. 


"BE  CALM,  CAMILLA"  51 

Camilla.  Mr.  Beals,  is  there  any  reason  why 
anyone  shouldn't  love  me? 

Gus.  Say,  didn't  I  love  you  myself,  and  I  only 
quit  because  I  saw  there  was  no  chance  for  me  with- 
out I  turned  into  a  kidnapper.  What's  the  matter 
with  you? 

(Enter  Alma.    Crossing,  goes  between  them.) 

Alma.  Well,  I  stuck  them  off  as  far  as  I  could — 
in  the  ell 

Gus.  Good.  I'm  glad  they're  in  that  profane 
part  of  the  house. 

Alma.  But,  dearie — ^you  hawe  got  her  room.  Mrs. 
J.  P.'s,  I  mean. 

Camilla.    Have  I,  really? 

Alma.  I  did  one  pretty  cute  thing.  I  sneaked 
the  mirror  and  buttonhook  in  on  her  dressing-table, 
so  she'll  think  she  broke  them  when  she  picks  them 
up. 

Camilla.    But  I  told  her  I  did. 

Alma.  Of  all  the  babies,  why  should  you  confess 
to  her?  (Looking  at  Camilla  keenly.)  Say,  you 
must  have  your  egg.  Want  to  see  where  I  get  it 
for  her,  Mr.  Beals,  right  off  the  nest? 

Gus.  (Rises)  Say,  I  haven't  seen  a  nest  egg  in 
years.  (Takes  Alma  by  the  arm.)  Lead  me  to  it. 
(Up  L.J 

Alma.  (At  door  l.u.  To  Camilla.^  You  stay 
right  here  now.     You  look  pale  all  of  a  sudden. 

(They  go  out,  leaving  Camilla;  she  sits  down  to 
piano,  begins  to  play  "Somebody's  Eyes.'' 
Enter  Pell,  descending  the  stairway,  gloom- 
ily, leans  against  the  piano  up  r.) 

Pell.    Terrible  isn't  it? 


52  "BE  CALM,   CAMILLA" 

Camilla.  Is  it.  I  don*t  know  just  what  you 
mean. 

Pell.    W^y,  our  coming  in  on  you  like  this. 

Camilla.    (Stops  playing)    Oh. 

Pell.    Terrible  for  you  and  terrible  for  me. 

Camilla.  Well,  at  least  it*s  a  lovely  day,  and  you 
can't  be  very  sorry  that  you're  here. 

Pell.  (Looking  at  her  more  cheerfully)  Not  just 
this  minute,  no. 

Camilla,  (Rather  wistfully)  Mrs.  Brooke  is 
very  attractive,  isn't  she,  and  very  interesting,  I 
suppose. 

Pell.  Oh,  she's  wonderful.  She  makes  you  do 
anything  she  wants  you  to.  You  find  yourself  on 
a  railroad  train  going  north  or  a  boat  going  south, 
or  staying  home  with  her  husband  because  she  doesn't 
want  to.  All  kinds  of  things  follow  in  the  wake  of 
being  a  friend  of  dear  Celia. 

Camilla.  How  happy  she  must  be.  It  must  be 
wonderful  to  be  like  that. 

Pell.  Oh,  I  don't  know.  She'd  think  it  would 
be  wonderful  to  be  like  you. 

Camilla.    Like  me? 

Pell.  Yes,  she's  always  talking  about  it — ^being 
awfully  young  and  having  all  your  mistakes  before 
you — everything  going  to  happen,  instead  of  look- 
ing back. 

Camilla.  But  some  people  don't  have  things 
happen  to  them,  they  just  go  on  from  day  to  day. 

Pell.  Well,  you  can't  complain  about  things  not 
happening  to  you. 

Camilla.  Oh,  you  mean  my  being  run  over.  Yes, 
that  was  something,  of  course. 

Pell.  Something!  Good  heavens!  I  don't  sup- 
pose you  like  to  talk  about  it. 

Camilla.    No,  it  was  too  wonderful ! 


"BE   CALM,   CAMILLA"  53 

Pell.  Wonderful!  Really?  Didn't  it  hurt  ter- 
ribly? 

Camilla.  I  don't  remember.  Everything  was 
golden.  Then  I  found  myself  in  the  hospital.  I 
was  so  happy. 

Pell.    Happy  in  a  hospital!     Were  you,  really? 

Camilla!  Yes,  the  happiest  days  of  my  life  were 
there.  I  had  such  a  beautiful  room,  and  that  almond 
tree  was  all  in  bloom.  It  was  the  first  thing  I  saw 
when  I  woke  up. 

Pell.  (Looking  at  the  almond  tree  on  the  piano) 
It  looks  like  a  pretty  sick  tree. 

Camilla.  Yes.  It  needs  to  be  set  out.  Vm  go- 
ing to  plant  it  to-day.  Of  course,  I  don't  like  to, 
because  then  I  can't  take  it  away  with  me,  but  I 
must  because  it  will  do  it  good. 

Pell.  Yes.  I  wouldn't  mind  being  set  out  my- 
self to-day.  I  can  almost  imagine  blooming,  espe- 
cially if  you  took  a  little  interest  in  me.  I  wonder 
if  you  could? 

Camilla.  (Innocently)  Why,  of  course  I  do.  I 
think  you're  coming  up  here  with  Mrs.  Brooke  is  so 
interesting. 

Pell.    Do  you,  really? 

Camilla.    Why,  yes ;  don't  you  ? 

Pell.  Well,  to  tell  you  the  honest  truth,  the  really 
wonderful  thing  about  finding  myself  up  here  with 
Mrs.  Brooke  is.  meeting  you. 

Camilla.    Oh,  no;  you  can't  mean  that. 

Pell.  I  do.  Only  I  mustn't  let  that  be  too  won- 
derful. 

Camilla.    Mustn't  you  ? 

Pell.  (With  meaning)  Because  June  has  a  prior 
claim,  hasn't  he? 

Camilla.    (With  dignity)    Of  course. 

Pell.  Forgive  my  challenging  you  like  that — ^but 
you  know  you  seem  so  young  and — I  thought  it 


54  "BE  CALM,  CAMILLA'* 

might  be  true  that  you  were  just  up  here  with  your 
nurse — to  get  well. 

Camilla.  Mr.  Pell.  (Rising.)  I  am  a  woman  of 
the  world.    (Crosses  to  bench  center.) 

Pell.  Well — you  don't  mind  my  thinking  you 
weren't,  do  you? 

Camilla.  I  don't  like  to  be  misunderstood.  (Sits 
on  bench  c.  in  front  of  the  davenport.) 

Pell.  /Intensely  amused  and  interested)  I  wish 
you'd  tell  me  about  yourself — and  how  you  came  to 
be  a  woman  of  the  world.  (Sits  on  arm  of  daven- 
port, R.C.J 

Camilla.  There's  very  little  to  tell.  I  wasn't 
born  in  this  country,  you  know — I  was  born  in 
Paris. 

Pell.    Really?    So  was  I — very  nearly. 

Camilla.  Oh,  how  nice.  Well,  I  lived  there  un- 
til I  was  thirteen — then  I  lost  my  father  and  mother 
— and  I  came  to  this  country  to  live  with  my  uncle 
in  Wisconsin.  There  I  learned  to -play  the  piano, 
very  beautifully,  I  thought — then  I  came  to  New 
York  and  found  I  didn't,  and  that's  all  there  is  to 
tell. 

Pell.  I  wasn't  bom  in  Paris,  but  I  lived  there 
until  I  was  ten  years  old.  It's  a  wonderful  place  to 
be  a  child  in,  isn't  it?  Did  you  learn  French  pray- 
ers and  everything  ? 

Camilla.    Yes — oh,  yes 

Pell.  Do  you  know  ''Le  petit  Jesu  allait  a 
Vecole''? 

Camilla.  (Sings)  ''Emportant  sa  croix  sur  son 
epaule " 

Pell.  (Delighted.  Sings)  ''Une  pomme  douce 
pour  mettait  dans  sa  bouche." 

Camilla.  (Sings)  ''Une  bouquet  des  fieurs,  pour 
mettait  dans  son  coeurT  Think  of  your  knowing 
that!    (^Camilla  places  her  hand  on  top  of  Pell's. 


"BE  CALM,  CAMILLA"  55 

He  does  the  same.     Camilla  draws  her*s  away.) 

Pell.  And  think  of  your  knowing  that!  Do 
you  know,  I  remember  meeting  you  when  you  were 
five  and  I  was  ten — didn't  your  nurse  take  you  to 
play  in  those  little  French  parks?     Of  course. 

Camilla.  My  mother  did — I  hadn't  any  nurse 
that  I  remember.     We  were  poor,  you  know. 

Pell.    Oh. 

Camilla.  Yes — my  father  was  a  portrait  painter — 
he  married  my  French  mother  and  his  family  didn't 
like  it  at  all. 

Pell.    I  see.     I'm  sure  she  was  a  dear. 

Camilla.    Yes — so  was  he.     But  he  didn't  paint 

very   well — this    is    a   picture    of    my   mother 

(Showing  locket  shyly.)  You  see  how  young  she 
was — and  why  we  were  so  poor.  My  darling  father 
just  couldn't  do  it.  I  think  he  must  have  learned 
to  paint  in  Wisconsin. 

Pell.  (Smiling  as  he  looks  at  locket)  By  Jove, 
you  do  get  an  idea  of  her  just  the  same — she  was 
sweet — and  you're  just  like  her!     (Pause.) 

(Enter  Patterson.     Pell  sees  him — is  a  bit  em- 
barrassed and  rises,  saying  "June" /J 

Camilla.    (Springing  up)    Oh,  you've  come! 

Pell,  (r.c.)  June,  I  don't  know  how  to  apologize 
for  being  here — ^you're  not  half  as  sorry  to  see  me 
as  I  am  to  see  myself 

Junius,  (^l.c.)  Why,  I  am  a  little  surprised — 
but  don't  let's  talk  about  being  sorry  until  we  know 
how  much  we  have  to  be  sorry  for — how  are  you? 
(Crossing  to  Camilla.^ 

Camilla.  So  happy — now  that  you've  come. 
(Centre,  her  back  to  audience.) 

Junius.  (To  PellJ  Are  you  up  here?  I  mean 
are  you  staying  up  here  in  the  woods? 


S6  "BE   CALM,   CAMILLA" 

Pell.    Why,  I  Seem  to  be  up  here,  yes. 

Junius.    Camping  or  stopping  at  the  hotel  ? 

Pell.  Why,  neither  one,  I'm  sort  of — passing 
through ! 

Junius.    Oh 

Pell.    I  expect  to  sleep  under  a  tree  to-night. 

Junius.    Why?    Some  fad? 

Pell.  No,  I  rather  expect  to  be  put  out  of  the 
house  where  I  am  staying. 

CMac  enters  from  veranda,  l.u.,  mith  bag  and  suit- 
case  and  crosses  to  r.u.J 

Junius.     We  can  put  you  up  for  the  night,  I 

should  think (To  Mac. J    Mac,  have  the  room 

off  mine  fixed  for  Mr.  Pell 

Mac.    I  believe  he  and  the  lady  have  had  rooms 

assigned  them,  sir,  in  the  ell ('Mac  goes  on  up 

the  stairway,  r.^ 

Junius.    (Surprised)    Oh — the  lady? 

Pell.    It's  the  very  devil,  June 

Junius.    (Startled)    Who  is  it? 

Pell.  Celia  Brooke — she — well,  I'll  tell  you  about 
it  later. 

Junius.    Oh — ^and  is  she — upstairs? 

Pell.    Why,  yes — she  was. 

Junius.  I'd  like  to  see  her — would  she  come 
»down,  do  you  think? 

Pell.  I'm  sure  she  would — she's  nothing  if  not 
courageous — ^you  know  Celia. 

Junius.    Ask  her,  will  you? 

Pell.  Of  course ('Pell  exits  up  the  stairs  R.J 

C Camilla  sits  bench  centre.) 

Junius.  (To  Camillaj  You've  met  before — 
you  and  Mr.  Pell? 

Camilla.  We?  No,  just  this  morning — what 
made  you  think  we'd  met  before  ? 


"BE  CALM,   CAMILLA"  57 

Junius.    Well (Sits  l.c.  on  bench  c.)    He 

was  holding  your  hand — ^and  I  inferred  from  that 
that  you  had  met  before — no  reason  at  all,  I  sup- 
pose  

Camilla,  ("r.c.  on  bench)  Oh — ^that  was  be- 
cause we  both  lived  in  Paris  when  we  were  chil- 
dren— ^and  said  French  prayers! 

Junius.   Oh — that  was  it Well — we  seem  to 

have  all  lived  in  Paris  when  we  were  children 

Camilla.  Yes — and  don't  you  remember  when 
you  told  me  you  had,  how  we — how  I — put  my  hand 
in  yours?    ^Camilla  places  her  hand  in  his.) 

Junius.    Of  course — but  that  was  different. 

Camilla,    Yes — so  different. 

Junius.  (Pauses)  Is  everything  all  right?  Are 
you  happy? 

Camilla.  Perfectly  happy — ^now  that  you've 
come. 

Junius.  That's  good — that's  splendid.  (Pauses.) 
How's  Alma? 

Camilla.  Alma's  well — she's  er — she's  out  getting 
me  an  ^gg.     She's  been  an  awfully  long  time  doing 

it Oh — I  forgot  to  tell  you — who  do  you  think 

came  this  morning 

Junius.     Someone  else? 

Camilla.  Such  a  nice  man — a  Mr.  Beals — I  think 
I  told  you  about  him. 

Junius.    Mr.  Beals  ? — I  don't  know. 

Camilla.  Oh,  he  is  such  a  dear — really,  he  is — 
you  may  have  seen  him  at  the  hospital — ^he's  a  song 
writer. 

Junius.  A  song-writer,  at  the  hospital?  What 
could  he  have  written? 

Camilla.    He  came  every  day  to  see  me 

Junius.    Oh 

Camilla.  And  er — I  think  he  and  Alma  are  quite 
interested  in  each  other. 


5^  "BE  CALM,  CAMILLA" 

Junius.  Really? 

Camilla.  Yes.  He's  er — well,  you  might  think 
he  was  a  little — I  don't  like  to  say  it,  because  he 
really  isn't — at  heart — but  he  seems  a  little  tough. 

Junius.  (Amused)  Oh,  well,  as  long  as  he  isn't 
tough  at  heart  what  do  we  care  ?  Is  he  staying  here, 
too? 

Camilla.  Oh,  no — he  only  came  this  morning — 
he's  camping  with  some  boys  up  the  lake. 

Junius.  Have  him  here  if  you  like,  you  know 

Camilla.  Oh,  no — it  would  be  dreadful  to  have 
him  here  all  the  time — I  mean,  it's  nice  to  have  him 
come.  And  if  he  were  here,  he  wouldn't  come,  you 
see. 

Junius.    Oh You  feel  the  same  way  about 

me,  I  suppose ("Camilla  looks  down.)     Do 

you  know  why  I  came  back? 

Camilla.  I  thought  perhaps  you'd  forgotten 
something. 

Junius.  It  was  because  I  couldn't  forget  some- 
thing— your  face,  when  I  left  you — it  didn't  look 
happy — and  I  couldn't  go  on.  Because  if  you're 
not  happy,  nothing  is  right 

Camilla.  Oh,  but  I  am — I'm  just  as  happy  as  I 
can  be,  under  the  circumstances 

Junius.  Under  the  circumstances — well,  if  the 
circumstances  aren't  ail  right  we'll  have  them 
changed — I  want  you  to  be  happy. 

Camilla.     Well,  I  will — I'll  try  harder. 

Junius,     Try?     You  shouldn't  have  to  try 

How  do  you  feel,  pretty  well? 

Camilla.  Oh,  I  never  felt  so  perfectly  well — 
only 

Junius.    There's  an  "only." 

Camilla.    My  heart 

Junius.    Your  heart? 

Camilla.    Yes — it  aches — sometimes 


"BE  CALM,  CAMILLA"  ig 

Junius.  Does  it  ?  Really  aches,  do  you  mean,  or 
do  you  imagine  it? 

Camilla.     Both. 

Junius.  Well — we  must  have  a  doctor  examine 
it. 

Camilla.   I  don't  think  my  heart  would  like  that. 

Junius.  Oh,  yes — hearts  can  be  fixed  up  splen- 
didly nowadays. 

Camilla.    Can  they? 

Junius.  Yes — don't  worry  about  that.  What 
troubled  me  was  your  face  when  I  left  you.  It 
looked  so  woe-begone — like  a  child  that  is  disap- 
pointed. I  couldn't  put  it  out  of  my  mind.  Not 
that  I  wanted  to — for  I  knew  that  if  you  were 
unhappy,  something  must  be  done  about  it.  Had 
anything  happened?    What  was  the  trouble? 

Camilla.    I  couldn't  tell  you. 

Junius.  Couldn't  tell  me  ?  Then  there  was  some- 
thing— and  you  must  tell  me. 

Camilla.    No — please. 

Junius.    Yes — ^please. 

Camilla.  I  can't.  Well — you  see,  I  thought  you 
were  going  to  kiss  me  good-bye — and  then  you 
didn't. 

Junius.     Why,  you  dear  child! 

Camilla.  You  must  have  done  it  a  great  many 
time — just — taken  somebody  in  your  arms  and  kissed 
them.  (She  sits  down  on  settee,  takes  out  little 
handkerchief.) 

Junius.  (Sitting  beside  her)  Why,  my  dear,  I'm 
so  sorry — don't  cry — you  see 

Camilla.    You  never  thought  of  it. 

Junius.  (Troubled)  It  wasn't  that.  You  know — 
I  just  wanted  to  have  you  up  here  and  make  you 
happy — and  well.  I  feel  that  you  are  a  lovely  child — 
who  needs  someone  to  take  care  of  her.  I  thought 
perhaps  I  might  be  the  one  to  do  that — if  the  child 


6o  "BE  CALM,  CAMILLA" 

was  willing.  But  though  I  think  of  you  in  this  way — 
you  are  really  not  a  child. 

Camilla.  (Agreeing  instantly)  No,  I'm  not — I'm 
not! 

Junius.  And  if  I  had  felt  like — ^taking  you  in  my 
arms  and  kissing  you — I  would  have  restrained  my- 
self. 

Camilla.    Even  if  I  had  wanted  you  to  ? 

Junius.    (Smiling)    Even  if  you  had  wanted  me 

to— it's  not  such  a  simple  thing  as  you  think 

All  sorts  of  complications  might  follow. 

Camilla.  Might  they  ?  (She  looks  at  him  and  he 
looks  at  her  for  a  moment.  Then  almost  uncon- 
sciously she  kisses  him.) 

(Enter  Mrs.  Brooke  and  Pell  on  this  scene  from 
stairway.  Junius  remains  calm.  Mrs. 
Brooke  makes  movement  to  retreat,) 

Junius.  (Rising)  Don't  go,  Celia — I  want  to 
speak  to  you. 

Mrs.  Brooke.  I'm  sorry,  June — I  wouldn't  have 
intruded  for  the  world.  ("Pell  goes  to  Camilla. 
She  and  he  take  each  other's  hands  for  a  moment. 
A  look  from  Patterson  sends  her  fluttering  up  the 
stairs.  After  Camilla  exits.)  I  suppose  you  re- 
ceived my  letter. 

Junius.   No — I  didn't. 

Mrs.  Brooke.  Well — I  didn't  write  it.  (Sits  r. 
on  arm  of  davenport.)  But  I  thought  of  it,  June — 
really,  I  did.  I  was  going  to  write  and  ask  if  it 
would  be  all  right  for  me  to  come  up. 

Junius.  Under  the  circumstances  you  couldn't 
very  well  expect  an  answer — could  you? 

Mrs.  Brooke.  As  a  matter  of  fact — ^there  were 
some  things  in  the  house  that  Roma  wanted — she 
asked  me  if  I  would  come  up  and  get  them  for  her. 


"BE  CALM,  CAMILLA''  6i 

Junius.    I  see.    Have  you  found  them? 

Mrs.  Brooke.  And  then,  too,  June,  you  haven't 
forgotten  the  night  in  this  very  room  that  you  said — 
this  was  to  be  "open  house"  for  all  of  us? 

Junius.  I  expect  we've  all  forgotten  some  of  the 
things  we  said  that  night 

Mrs.  Brooke.  I  haven't — if  that's  what  you  mean. 
I  remember  what  I  said — every  word  of  it.  (Look- 
ing him  in  the  eyes.) 

Pell.  (Down  r.)  If  you'll  excuse  me,  I'll  go — I 
imagine  you  can  talk  more  freely  if  I'm  not  here. 
(Crosses  to  veranda,  L.u.J 

Junius.  I  don't  see  how  that  would  be  possible — 
however 

Mrs.  Brooke.  (Anxiously  to  Pellj  You  don't 
mean  that  you're  going  altogether? 

Pell.    Just  down  to  the  lake. 

Mrs.  Brooke.  You're  not  going  to  do  anything 
foolish,  are  you,  Baxter? 

Pell.  I  thought  I'd  fish  a  little — I  guess  it's 
foolish.   (Exits  I..V.) 

Mrs.  Brooke.  I  suppose  you  wouldn't  believe  me, 
June,  if  I  told  you  that  what  I  said  that  night  is 
just  as  true  now  as  it  was  then. 

Junius.   Why,  certainly  I  would.    (Sits  bench  c.) 

Mrs.  Brooke.  That  I've  always  known  you  were 
the  only  man  in  the  world  for  me.  If  you  hadn't 
married  my  best  friend,  I'd  have  been  a  happy 
woman  to-day. 

Junius.    Aren't  you  a  happy  woman  to-day? 

Mrs.  Brooke.  Of  course  I'm  not.  Why,  there's 
nothing  between  me  and  Baxter  Pell,  June.  You 
know  what  my  life  is.  You  know  what  Brooke  is. 
He  doesn't  care  anything  about  women — he  should 
never  have  married  one.  I  just  have  to  flick  my- 
self into  going  on.  So  I  just  flicked  myself  up 
here  for  a  sort  of  a  lark  and  to  annoy  somebody. 


62  "BE  CALM,  CAMILLA" 

JUNIUS  glances  at  her,  a  little  amused  and  friendly, 
hut  she  does  not  notice  this.)  Of  course,  I  have 
rather  thrown  conventions  aside  for  the  past  few 
years — as  I  see  you  have.    (His  face  becomes  stern.) 

Junius.  I  haven't  thrown  conventions  aside  that 
I  know  of. 

Mrs.  Brooke.  (With  a  little  mock  melodrama) 
Oh — are  you  going  to  marry  the  girl? 

Junius.  Certainly  not.  She  is  up  here  with  her 
nurse,  to  get  a  little  health  and  fresh  air 

Mrs.  Brooke.  Oh,  I  see.  I  forgot  to  bring  my 
nurse — my  mistake!  June — have  you  heard  from 
Roma  lately? 

Junius.  I  hear  from  her — not  personally,  of 
course — but  with  perfect  regularity. 

Mrs.  Brooke.  I  don't  think  she  is  at  all  happy — 
how  could  she  be,  with  him,  after  having  had  you  ? 

Junius.  I'm  afraid  I  can't  throw  any  light  on  that 
subject. 

Mrs.  Brooke.  Dear  me — what  a  muddle  life  is. 
And  all  because  people  will  persist  in  marrying  each 
other.  If  it  weren't  for  that,  what  a  wonderful 
world  it  would  be. 

Junius.  Wouldn't  it?  Full  of  cast  off  men  and 
women. 

Mrs.  Brooke.    Well — it's  that  anyway,  isn't  it? 

Junius.    I  suppose  so. 

Mrs.  Brooke.  June — would  you  take  Roma 
back?    Do  you  care  for  her  any  more  at  all? 

Junius.    No. 

Mrs.  Brooke.  Why  don't  you  let  her  have  a 
divorce,  then,  June? 

Junius.    Does  she  want  one? 

Mrs.  Brooke.  Well — if  you  have  no  idea  of 
taking  her  back — I  think  there  is — ^another  man. 

Junius.    You  mean  Fownes? 

Mrs.  Brooke.   No,  she  got  all  over  her  infatuation 


"BE  CALM,  CAMILLA"  63 

for  him,  June,  a  year  ago — when  he  began  to  sing 
off  key. 

Junius.  Oh,  then  there's  still  another — a  singer, 
too? 

Mrs.  Brooke.   Yes — Luigi  Ferreles — a  tenor. 

Junius.  Oh — going  a  little  higher  this  time. 
Fownes  was  a  baritone,  wasn't  he? 

Mrs.  Brooke.  Ferreles  is  not  a  professional — 
he's  from  South  America,  very  near  her  home.  He's 
rich  and  quite  good-looking.  His  voice  is  small  but 
sweet,  Roma  says. 

Junius.    And  he  doesn't  sing  off  key. 

Mrs.  Brooke.    Not  yet 

Junius.  He  probably  will  in  time.  A  divorce 
would  be  only  a  temporary,  relief  for  Roma — and 
you  know  how  I  feel  about  those  things. 

Mrs.  Brooke.  You  are  hopelessly  old-fashioned, 
June. 

Junius.  Yes,  I'm  afraid  so.  To  tell  the  truth, 
Celia — I  don't  see  why  I  should  submit  to  the  an- 
noyance— the  newspapers  and  the  notoriety — and  for 
what?  If  Roma's  loves  were  great  enough — but 
they're  not.  They're  simply  frequent.  And  she 
likes  it  in  California. 

Mrs.  Brooke.  Yes — of  course,  you're  right — 
but  you're  not  beyond  reproach  yourself  now,  my 
dear! 

Junius.  Celia — it  seems  to  me  that  a  man  of  my 
reputation  ought  to  be  able  to  do  what  he  likes,  with- 
out people  talking.  If  he  can't,  what's  the  good 
of  having  a  reputation  at  all? 

Mrs.  Brooke.  Don't  ask  me,  my  dear.  I  don't 
see  any  good  in  having  one.  In  fact,  I  don't  know 
anyone  that  has  except  you — and  now  yours  seems  to 
be  on  the  verge  of  disappearing.  (He  gives  her  a 
look  of  annoyance.)  It  isn't  what  we  do,  you  know — 
but  what  we  appear  to  do.     If  it  were  what  we  do, 


64  "BE  CALM,  CAMILLA" 

I*d  be  quite  embarrassed  by  my  unblemished  ap- 
pearance— I  would,  really.  IVe  got  so  used  to  be- 
ing thought  a  perfect  devil. 

Junius.  It*s  only  on  her  account  that  I  mind,  you 
know. 

Mrs.  Brooke.  Well — of  course  I  shan't  speak  of 
your  having  her  up  here — and  I'll  caution  Baxter. 

Junius.  (Dryly)  Thanks. 

Mrs.  Brooke.  Vm  sorry  I  came,  June — ^but  you 
don't  mind  my  staying  to-night,  do  you?  It's  such 
a  hard  place  to  get  away  from? 

Junius.  Why  certainly,  stay  of  course.  I'm 
leaving  myself  to-night. 

Mrs.  Brooke.    You  are? 

Junius.    Yes — late  to-night. 

Mrs.  Brooke.    (Looking  at  him  admiringly)    I'm 

sorry (Pause.)   How  I  wish  you'd  run  over  me 

when  I  was  a  girl. 

Junius.    I  didn't  have  a  car  then — besides 

Mrs.  Brooke.  You  don't  like  brunettes  as  well. 
No — you  didn't  care  so  terribly  much  for  Roma, 
June.  It  was  the  way  she  sang  Gounod's  "Ave 
Maria."  My  God,  how  she  sang  it !  Shall  you  ever 
forget  it,  June? 

Junius.  No — why  forget  anything  wonderful? 
(Starting  for  stairway.)    Will  you  excuse  me? 

Mrs.  Brooke.  Yes — for  all  but  one  thing,  June. 
If  you  only  cared  for  me — it  would  simplify  every- 
thing so. 

Junius.    Simplify  everything? 

Mrs.  Brooke.  I'll  never  leave  Brooke,  I  know, 
unless  something  tremendous  comes  into  my  life — 
but  it  doesn't — it  just  goes  right  on  up  the  stairs! 
f  Junius  is  up  one  step  on  the  stairs.) 

Junius.  I  think  Brooke  is  just  the  man  for  you. 
Don't  regret  me,  my  dear — I'd  never,  never  stand 
for  the  things    vou    do    and    say.     Even  to-night 


'BE  CALM,   CAMILLA'*  6 


you're  in  danger .  My  hands  are  so  strong  and  the 
lake  is  so  near!  (He  starts  up  the  stairway,  meets 
Camilla  on  the  landing.) 

Camilla.  (Softly  to  him)  Have  you  forgiven 
me? 

Junius.    Forgiven  you?    For  what? 

Camilla.  You  looked  in  my  eyes — and  I  couldn't 
help  it. 

Junius.    Why,  my  child,  I'd  forgotten  it. 

(He  goes  on  up  the  stairway.  Camilla,  crushed, 
comes  down.  Mrs.  Brooke,  a  little  tearful, 
turns  to  her.) 

Mrs.  Brooke.  It's  just  enough  to  make  one  sob — • 
to  hear  him  go  on  about  how  Roma — his  wife — 
used  to  sing  Gounod's  "Ave  Maria."  .  .  . 

Camilla.  (Nerving  herself  up)  Is  it?  Tell  me 
about  it 

Mrs.  Brooke.    Sometime  I  will — 

(Exit  Mrs.  Brooke  upstairs  as  Gus  Beals  enters 

L.C.; 

Gus.  (h.c,  a  little  nervous)  I'm  on  my  way,  kid. 
Say  a  good  word  to  the  Queen  of  the  Nurses  for 
me,  will  you? 

Camilla.    Why?    Is  it  necessary? 

Gus.    I'm  afraid  so 

Camilla.    (^r..J    Have  you  quarreled? 

Gus.  Yes,  kid — I  asked  her  to  marry  me — right 
before  the  old  Plymouth  Rock  hen  and  she  was  quite 
insulted.  But  I'll  be  around  again  to-morrow  and 
see  how  she  feels  about  it.     She's  a  wonderful  girl. 

Camilla.  Yes,  she  is.  Everyone's  wonderful 
but  me. 

Gus.    Everyone  but  you?    (Crosses  to  Camilla. j 


66  "BE   CALM,   CAMILLA" 

Say,  what's  the  matter — aren't  you  the  heroine  of 
the  piece — and  didn't  I  hear  the  King  of  the  Movies 
had  arrived — and  everything?  I  expected  to  find 
you  walking  on  air — however  that's  done. 

Camilla.  Why  should  I?  I'm  nothing  to  him 
but  just  a  poor  orphan — that  can't  sing  or  do  any- 
thing  

Gus.  (Mystified)  What  do  you  want  to  sing 
for? 

Camilla.  He's  terribly  unhappy  now — ^because 
of  the  way  his  wife  used  to  sing  Gounod's  "Ave 
Maria." 

Gus.  Well,  you  can't  blame  him,  can  you — I'm 
unhappy  every  time  I  hear  anyone  sing  it — unless 
it's  a  Victrola,  where  you  can  turn  it  off  just  before 
it  gets  to  the  last  "Maria."  .  .  . 

Camilla.    His  wife  sang  it  beautifully 

Gus.    How  do  you  know  she  did? 

Camilla.     Well — I  do  .  .  . 

Gus.  Listen  here,  kid — Is  he  in  the  house?  Let's 
give  him  a  little  tune — I  know  what  a  man  likes — 

come  on (Going  to  piano.   Sings.)    "When  you 

are  thinking  of  somebody's  eyes.  Somebody's  eyes — 
tender  and  wise "    Come  on 

Camilla.  Oh,  no,  I  couldn't — don't,  please  don't ! 
(Crosses  to  davenport,  sits  with  back  to  audience.) 

Gus.      "It  doesn't  matter  what  other  eyes  say. 

You  turn  away  and  sigh — just  for  somebody's 

('Mac  coming  hastily  down  stairway.) 

Mac.  Excuse  me,  sir — but  Mr.  Patterson — ^he 
requests  that  whoever  is  singing  will  stop  and  sing 
something  else 

Camilla.  (Unstrung)  He  hates  the  song — ^be- 
cause I  sing  it  sometimes. 

Mac.     He  didn't  know  it  was  you,  sir. 

Gus.    That's  all  right,  Mac — I  only  sing  to  cheer 


"BE   CALM,   CAMILLA"  67 

others  up — and  it  always  cheers  them  up  when  I 
stop. 

Mac.  Yes,  sir — I'm  sure  you  don't  sing  to  annoy 
anybody,  sir.  I  thought  it  was  you — but  he  was  in 
that  kind  of  a  mood  that  I  thought  it  was  best  to 
let  it  go  that  it  was  Mr.  Pell.  Yes,  sir,  it's  all 
right.       (Exit  Mac.j 

Gus.    I  can  see  that  Pell  is  in  wrong (Going 

to  Camilla.^  Say,  kid — a  word  of  advice  and  I'm 
gone.     I  know  what's  happened  to  you. 

Camilla.   Do  you  ? 

Gus.  Sure  I  do — I  saw  his  picture  in  the  paper 
and  I  knew  then  what  was  going  to  happen — a  big, 
handsome  guy  like  that — why,  wouldn't  you  fall  for 
him.  But  listen,  kid,  don't  forget  the  smile — ^get 
me?  (She  smiles  faintly.)  That's  right.  No  one 
knows  how  things  are  going  to  come  out 

Camilla.     I  do — they've  come  out. 

Gus.   What  do  you  mean? 

Camilla.  There's  no  hope  at  all — he  practically 
told  me — there  wasn't. 

Gus.  (Looking  at  her  surprised)  Gee — ^how  did 
he  have  the  heart  to  do  it?  (Sits  on  arm  r.  of  dav- 
enport, puts  his  arm  around  her.)  Now  say,  kid,  I 
guess  to-day  isn't  our  lucky  day.  I  know  my  star  is 
on  the  blink — the  best  way  to  do  is  to  be  very  quiet 
until  things  break  right.  I'm  going  to  go  and  put 
my  head  under  a  blanket  until  to-morrow — or  any- 
way until  Venus  rises  this  eve — and  I'd  advise  you 
to  do  the  same. 

(Enter  Junius  from  stairway.) 

Camilla.  (Realising  his  presence,  weakly  ex- 
tricates herself  from  Gus's  sympathetic  arm)  This 
is — my  friend  Mr.  Beals 

Junius.    How  do  you  do? 


\ 


68  "BE   CALM,   CAMILLA** 

Gus.    Glad  to  meet  you (Goes  to  Mr.  Pat- 

TERSON.J  Fm  a  very  good,  old  friend  of  Miss  Hath- 
away*s.- 

Junius.  So  I  see.  Don't  disturb  yourself  on 
my  account. 

Gus.  (With  dignity)  YouVe  got  me  wrong,  Mr. 
Patterson — I  never  put  my  arm  around  her  before — 
and  I  only  did  it  now  because  I  thought  somebody 
ought  to (A  pause.)  And  Fm  very  sorry  I  an- 
noyed you  with  that  bum  song. 

Junius.  I'm  very  fond  of  the  song — I  didn't  like 
to  hear  it  murdered. 

Gus.    Oh,  you  like  the  song Well,  Fm  very 

glad — I  wrote  it 

(Enter  Alma,  l.u.,  with  silver  cup.) 

Alma.    (To  Gusj    I  thought  you  were  gone 

Gus.    I  am.    (He  goes  l.u.J 

Alma.  Mr.  Patterson — Fm  certainly  glad  to  see 
you 

Junius.    Yes — ^yes,  Alma.    Fm  glad  to  see  you. 

Alma.  (To  CamillaJ  Here,  sweetheart — Fm 
sorry  I  was  so  long  getting  it. 

Camilla.     Thank  you,  Alma (She    turns 

away  with  the  cup.    Rises,  goes  over  L.J 

Alma.  (To  Junius  j  It's  raw — she  can't  swallow 
it  with  anybody  looking — I  suppose  you've  heard  all 
the  company  we've  got. 

Junius.  Yes,  Alma — but  I  don't  think  they'll 
stay  very  long Not  after  to-morrow. 

Alma.  Really?  She's  very  nice — I  guess  he  is 
too.  But  quiet  is  the  best  for  her — of  course. 
(Glancing  at  Camilla.J 

Junius.  Yes — of  course— —  (Crosses  over  to 
Camilla  J 

Camilla.  (Turning  and  setting  cup  down)  The 
vinegar  makes  me  cry,  Alma 


"BE  CALM,  CAMILLA"  69 

('Junius  goes  out  l.u.  leaving  Alma  and  Camilla.^ 
CAlma  goes  to  get  cup  on  table  l J 

Alma.    Why,  you  never  took  it- 


Camilla.  I  couldn't — what  does  it  matter,  Alma? 
I'm  well  enough,  too  well. 

Alma.  What's  the  matter.  I've  had  my  hands 
full  with  Mr.  Beals — now  I  hope  you  don't  go  act- 
ing up! 

Camilla.  I'm  sorry  you  weren't  kind  to  him, 
Alma.  Even  if  you  don't  care  about  anybody — ^you 
should  be  kind. 

Alma.  I  was  plenty  kind  enough — don't  worry 
about  us.  It's  you  I'm  thinking  of.  Aren't  you 
happy  ?  With  Mr.  Patterson  here,  and  Mrs.  Brooke 
going  to-morrow? 

Camilla.    I  don't  think  he  likes  me,  Alma 

Alma.    Likes  you?    Why,  he  just  loves  you! 

Camilla.  Yes — but  not  in  the  right  way.  (Cross- 
ing to  c.)  I  evidently  am  not  the  sort  of  girl  who 
can  do  it.    (Sits  c.)    They  were  all  very  wonderful. 

Alma.    (Mystified)    Who  ? 

Camilla.  Madame  da  Valliere — Du  Barry  and — 
and — Camille. 

Alma.  Well,  from  what  I've  heard  of  Camille,  I 
don't  believe  Mr.  Patterson  would  have  her  in  the 
house. 

Camilla.  Of  course  he  wouldn't — ^he'd  be  afraid 
of  her — but  he's  not  afraid  of  me !   (About  to  weep.) 


CURTAIN 


ACT    II 

Scene  2 

Time  :    The  same  evening.    Moonlight. 

At  Rise:  Gus  Beals  discovered.  He  is  standing 
in  the  doorway,  leaning  against  it,  apparently 
waiting. 

(Mac  enters  R.iJ 

Gus.     Anybody  home,  Mac? 

Mac.  (r.  Starting)  Oh,  Mr.  Beals — is  that  you, 
sir?  I  didn't  see  you  at  all.  I  didn't  know  anyone 
was  here 

Gus.  (Crosses  and  sits  on  r.  arm  davenport) 
That's  all  right,  Mac — I'm  hardly  visible — ^almost  in 
a  state  of  total  eclipse — ^but  chasing  around  in  the 
old  orbit  just  the  same. 

Mac.    Who  did  you  want  to  see,  sir? 

Gus.  Well — anyone,  Mac,  except  either  of  the 
gentlemen — or  the  new  lady.  Are  either  of  the  old 
ladies  at  home  ? 

Mac.  Mr.  Beals,  how  you  do  go  on,  sir.  I  think 
they're  both — somewhere 

Gus.    (Sitting  r.c.J    I  should  hope  so. 

Mac.  If  you'll  pardon  me  mentioning  it,  sir,  I 
was  very  pleased  to  see  you  holding  Miss  Robins' 
hand  as  I  passed  the  chicken  yard  this  afternoon. 
You  didn't  see  me,  but  I  saw  you — and  I  was  very 
pleased. 

Gus.  Were  you  really,  Mac?  Now,  isn't  that 
70 


"BE   CALM,   CAMILLA'^  71 

nice?  I  wish  Miss  Robins  had  been — even  a  little 
pleased. 

Mac.    And  wasn't  she,  sir? 

Gus.     She  didn't  appear  to  be. 

Mac.  Maybe  she  was  and  didn't  let  you  know  it, 
sir.  My  brother's  wife,  Allie  Hannigan,  is  like  that 
with  me. 

Gus.    Is  she  really? 

Mac.  Oh,  yes — we  have  to  make  allowances  for 
them,  Mr.  Beals — she's  helpless,  a  female  is,  and  yet 
she  has  her  pride. 

Gus.  I  don't  see  anything  helpless  about  Miss 
Robins. 

Mac.  Well,  she  is,  sir,  though  she  may  not  show 
it.  To  see  Allie  come  in  after  being  out  at  day's 
work  and  get  the  dinner  and  clear  up  the  house, — for 
the  children  go  to  school  now  and  won't  help  her 
any, — a  fine  dinner  it  is  she  gets  and  then  mends 
their  clothes  and  dams  the  stockings — of  the  man 
that's  living  with  them  too — and  mine  when  I  was 
there,  and  yet  with  all  she  does,  you  know,  sir,  she's 
only  a  female — and  helpless,  and  she  knows  it. 

Gus.  I  should  think  anyone  would  feel  helpless 
after  they  did  all  that — ^but  I  bet  she  doesn't  feel 
any  more  helpless  than  I  do,  Mac. 

Mac.  Oh  yes,  sir — we  never  get  to  feel  the  way 
they  do,  Mr.  Beals.  Whatever  they  may  do,  they're 
the  weaker  sex — that  stands  out  on  them.  Oh  yes, 
they  can't  get  away  from  that. 

Gus.  Well,  I'm  sorry  for  them,  if  they  ever  feel 
any  weaker  than  I  do. 

Mac.  Yes,  sir — and  so  we  should  feel — sorry  for 
them — and  do  everything  we  can.  I  send  Allie  ten 
dollars  every  month — though  she's  only  my  brother's 
wife — I  mean  to  look  out  for  her. 

Gus.  (With  meaning)  Yes — I  think  that's  a 
good  idea — you  want  to  look  out  for  them. 


^2  "BE  CALM,  CAMILLA" 

Mac.    Yes,  sir. 

(Enter   Alma    down    the    stairs.     Mac    discreetly 
exits  R.I.) 

Gus.  (Rising,  goes  up  to  AlmaJ  Well,  it  was 
such  a  lovely  night  that  I  thought,  instead  of  jump- 
ing into  the  lake  I'd  row  across  and  see  how  the 
Queen  of  the  Nurses  was  feeling — and  let  her  have 
a  last  look  at  the  shrunken  form  of  poor  old  G. 
Beals. 

Alma.  (In  r.,  near  the  stairway)  Don't  be  silly, 
Mr.  Beals — anyone  would  think  we  had  quarreled, 
the  way  you  talk. 

Gus.     Didn't  we  quarrel.  Alma? 

Alma.  /  certainly  didn't — I  merely  expressed  my 
opinion. 

Gus.     I'd  hate  to  have  you  quarrel  with  me. 

Alma.  I  thought  you  were  serious — and  so  I  tried 
to  be — and  told  you  how  I  felt  about  marriage. 

Gus.  Don't  you  think  you  were  a  little  hard  on* 
me?  After  all,  I  do  make  a  living — I'm  not  sitting 
around  in  the  Park  yet,  reading  somebody  else's 
newspaper. 

Alma.  (Wistfully)  I  know,  Mr.  Beals — ^but  I 
wouldn't  feel  right  about  it  unless  you  had  a  regular 
position — I  wouldn't — that's  all  there  is  to  it. 

Gus.  But  a  song- writer  makes  a  lot  of  money 
sometimes,  Alma.  I  made  $40,000  out  of  "Prairie 
Belle." 

Alma.     Where  is  it? 

Gus.  Well,  I  don't  know — ^that's  what  I  heard  I 
made. 

Alma.  I  know — it  would  be  all  right  to  write 
songs  evenings,  but  in  the  daytime  you  should  be  in 
some  regular  business — where  you'd  be  with  men 
who — who  weren't  song-writers. 


"BE  CALM,  CAMILLA"  73 

Gus.  Well,  maybe  I  could  get  a  job  to  sweep 
out  Mr.  Patterson's  office. 

Alma.  He's  just  the  one  would  give  you  some- 
thing, if  you  wanted  it.     He  would,  I  know  it. 

Gus.    You  do  like  the  old  scout  just  a  little,  Alma? 

Alma.  There  never  was  anyone  could  make  me 
laugh  the  way  you  can. 

Gus.  All  right,  Alma — I'll  bet  you'll  laugh  your 
head  off  when  you  hear  the  position  Mr.  Patterson 
is  going  to  offer  me.  If  it's  cleaning  out  cuspidors, 
shall  I  take  it?  I  will,  you  know — anything  for 
romance. 

Alma.    Don't,  Mr.  Beals 

Gus.  Why  don't  you  call  me  Gus,  and  be  done 
with  it? 

Alma.     I  can't. 

Gus.  You're  not  going  to  call  me  Mr.  Beals  after 
we're  married,  are  you? 

Alma.    I  don't  know  what  I'm  going  to  call  you. 

Gus.  Maybe  if  I  go  out  doing  day's  work,  Alma, 
I'll  get  sick  and  be  laid  up  in  the  dear  old  hospital 
where  first  we  met — wouldn't  that  be  lovely?  If  I 
could  just  manage  to  get  bedridden,  we  could  4iave 
a  nice,  happy  home  life  in  the  convalescent  ward,  or 
some  place — couldn't  we? 

Alma.  Well,  if  you  do  get  sick,  indeed  I  will 
take  care  of  you,  Mr.  Beals.  I  do  think  a  lot  of 
you. 

Gus.     Do  you  really? 

Alma.  Yes — I  think  more  of  you  and  Mr.  Pat- 
terson than  I  ever  expected  to  of  anyone — and  I 
think  you're  something  alike. 

Gus.  (Looking  at  her  in  surprise)  You  know 
what  to  do  for  people  that  faint,  don't  you?  Place 
the  feet  a  little  higher  than  the  head  and  tickle  the 
nose  lightly  with  a  goose  quill 

Alma.    Don't,  Mr.  Beals — I'm  really  serious. 


74  "BE   CALM,   CAMILLA" 

Gus.     So  am  I (Kisses  her.    Alma  nearly 

weeps.)  Why,  Alma — is  it  possible  that  you're  only 
a  poor,  weak  woman? 

Alma.    What  else  should  I  be,  Mr.  Beals? 

(Enter  Mrs.  Brooke  down  the  stairs.) 

Mrs.  Brooke.  Alma — you  took  my  headache  all 
away — with  your  wonderful  hands. 

Alma.  (Recovering  herself)  Really?  Well,  I 
am  glad,  Mrs.  Brooke 

Mrs.  Brooks.  She  has  wonderful  hands,  Mr. 
Beals. 

Gus.     Hasn't  she? 

Mrs.  Brooke.  And  you  put  me  to  sleep,  Alma — 
before  I  had  a  chance  to  give  you  this — —  (Putting 
a  bill  in  Alma's  hands.) 

Alma.  Why,  I  didn't  expect  that  at  all,  Mrs. 
Brooke — I  was  glad  to  do  it. 

Mrs.  Brooke.  (Sits  on  davenport,  facing  fire- 
place up  center — picks  up  book.)  I  know — ^you  don't 
expect  anything  because  you're  such  a  dear,  kind 
girl.     Your  hands  are  worth  a  thousand  dollars  a 

day — if  any  one  had  it — so  soft  and  so  strong 

You're  wonderful,  Alma. 

Gus.     That's  what  I  was  telling  her. 

Mrs.  Brooke.  My  head  was  thumping  and 
pounding — why,  I  was  almost  mad  with  it — then 
Alma  came — a  few  passes,  and  it  was  gone. 

Gus.  (Crossing  L.)  I  wish  I  could  have  that  ex- 
perience— but  I  don't  know  what  to  hit  myself  in 
the  head  with — to  start  the  thing. 

Mrs.  Brooke.  If  a  nurse  is  too  sympathetic  she's 
sickening — ^but  you — well,  you're  just  right. 

Alma.    Well,  thank  you,  Mrs.  Brooke,  I'm  sure. 

Gus.  (Aside  to  her)  I  knew  all  this  before — 
that  your  hands  were  wonderful  and  that  you  were 


"BE  CALM,  CAMILLA"  75 

just  right,  Alma (Drawing  her  aside,)     Say — 

let's  go  out  in  the  moonlight  and  act  like  a  couple 
of  darned  fools — will  you? 

(They  exit  through  veranda  door  l.u.  Enter  Ca- 
milla down  the  stairway.  She  carries  a  little 
book  in  her  hand.) 

Camilla.  (Crosssng  l.)  Mrs.  Brooke — you're 
going  to-morrow? 

Mrs.  Brooke.    Yes. 

Camilla.  I'm  sorry — I  hope  you're  not  going  on 
my  account.  I  feel  so  badly  because  I  didn't  seem 
more  pleased  to  see  you. 

Mrs.  Brooke.  (Calmly)  Don't  speak  of  it,  my 
child.  You  weren't  pleased 'to  see  me — but  I  wasn't 
really  pleased  to  see  you. 

Camilla.     Of  course  not. 

Mrs.  Brooke.  (Glancing  at  her  sharply)  And 
naturally  with  your  ideas  about  things — I  presume 
you  have  ideas — ^you  must  have  been  terribly  shocked 
to  think  of  my  coming  up  here  with  Mr.  Pell. 

Camilla.     (Naively)     Why?     I  am  up  here. 

Mrs.  Brooke.  (Mischievously)  I  know.  But 
not  with  Mr.  Pell — Mr.  Patterson  is  very  different, 
isn't  he? 

Camilla.  Very.  But  you  are  a  very  old  friend 
of — Mr.  Patterson's — and  you  had  the  keys — and — 

Mrs.  Brooke.  (Finishing)  His  wife  asked  me 
to  come. 

Camilla.  (Taking  picture  out  of  hook)  Yes — 
Mrs.  Brooke — is  that  her  picture? 

Mrs.  Brooke.  Why,  yes — that's  Roma's  picture 
— where  did  you  find  it? 

Camilla.  In  this  book.  Mrs.  Brooke,  is  she 
very  beautiful? 

Mrs.  Brooke.    (Looking  at  picture)    Very. 


76  "BE  CALM,  CAMILLA" 

Camilla.     Of  course,  I  was  sure  she  was 

(After  a  moment's  hesitation.)  Her — er — her  nose 
looks  a  little  long  in  the  picture — but  I  suppose  it 
isn't. 

Mrs.  Brooke.    Oh,  no — Roma's  nose  is  perfect. 

Camilla.     (Nodding  sadly)     Perfect. 

Mrs.  Brooke.    And  in  addition  to  her  beauty  she 
has  the  most  divine  voice. 

Camilla.    (Sadly)    Divine.    Oh,  yes 

Mrs.  Brooke.     She  sang  under    the    name    of 
Emma  D'Estes.    You've  probably  heard  of  her. 

Camilla.    No. 

Mrs.  Brooke.     (Caustically)     Well — everybody 
else  has. 

Camilla.    Was  it  long  ago? 

Mrs.  Brooke.      Not  very.     Well,  it  was  about 
eight  years  ago. 

Camilla.     Oh — then  I  wouldn't  have  heard  of 
her. 

Mrs.  Brooke.   You  mean  you  weren't  born  then  ? 

Camilla.  I  didn't  come  to  this  country,  until  six 
years  ago. 

Mrs.  Brooke.  Oh — where  did  you  spend  your 
young  years? 

Camilla.  In  Paris.  I  lived  there  until  I  was 
eighteen. 

Mrs.  Brooke.  Oh,  I  see — well — ^when  Roma 
comes  back  you  must  hear  her  sing. 

Camilla.    Has  she  gone  away,  somewhere? 

Mrs.  Brooke.  She's  in  California.  Didn't  you 
know  it? 

Camilla.  No.  I  don't  know  anything  about  it 
at  all. 

Mrs.  Brooke.  Well,  my  child — although  you  are 
so  young,  I'm  sure  you  are  as  suspicious  and  intu- 
itive as  I  was  at  your  age.     You  have  suspected 


"BE  CALM,  CAMILLA"  ^^ 

that  Mr.  Patterson  was  not  living  with  his  wife, 
haven't  you?    Be  honest. 

Camilla.  I  wouldn't  have  thought  of — suspecting 
anything.    He's  been  too  wonderful  to  me. 

Mrs.  Brooke.  That's  all  very  sweet  and  lovely 
— but  you  did  know  something  was  up. 

Camilla.  (Hesitating)  Well — Alma  told  me,  she 
heard  at  the  hospital  that  he — that  they  were  sort  of 
separated.  In  the  very  beginning  I  didn't  even 
know  that  he  had  a  wife 

Mrs.  Brooke.  Well — I'm  surprised  at  June, 
really. 

Camilla.  I  thought  he  was  a  doctor  in  the  hos- 
pital. He  let  me  think  that  just  for  a  few  mo- 
ments— so  I  would  tell  him  things  quite  frankly. 

Mrs.  Brooke.    My  child — how  interesting. 

Camilla.  It  was  the  first  time  I  saw  him.  Be- 
fore he  went,  he  told  me.  But  I  never  could  forget 
that  first  feeling.  You  see — the  doctor  that  he  should 
have  been,  wasn't  married. 

Mrs.  Brooke.  My  dear!  Why,  it's  too  absurd, 
isn't  it? 

Camilla.  Oh — much.  What  I  started  to  tell 
you  was  that  I'm  going  away,  too. 

Mrs.  Brooke.  Are  you  really?  Eventually,  I 
suppose  you  mean. 

Camilla.     No — at  once. 

Mrs.  Brooke.    Oh — you  mean  with  him,  tonight  ? 

Camilla.    (Heartbroken)    Is  he  going,  to-night? 

Mrs.  Brooke.  W^hy,  yes — that's  what  I  under- 
stood. 

Camilla.     Oh,  I  didn't  know  that. 

(Enter  Pell,  a  little  gloomy,  from  stairs.) 

Mrs.  Brooke.  Well — ^perhaps  you  can  go  with 
us,  to-morrow.  I'm  sure  Mr.  Pell  would  like  that — 
wouldn't  you,  Baxter? 


78  "BE  CALM,  CAMILLA" 

Pell.    What's  that? 

Mrs.  Brooke.  To  have  Camilla  go  down  to  New 
York  with  us,  to-morrow 

Camilla.  Thank  you,  but  I'm  not  going  to  New 
York. 

Pell.  (Delighted)  Anywhere  you  say — how's 
Canada?  Do  you  Hke  salmon  fishing?  Are  we 
really  going  off  the  three  of  us  on  a  lark? 

Camilla.   Excuse  me,  won't  you?    (Exit  l.v.) 

Mrs.  Brooke.  (Sitting  on  davenport)  Poor 
child — what  a  hopeless  thing.  I  know,  because  I've 
been  in  love  with  the  man  myself. 

Pell,  (r.)  When  an  irresistible  girl  meets  an 
immovable  man — what  happens? 

Mrs.  Brooke.  Do  you  really  think  she's  irre- 
sistible ? 

Pell.     Well,  she  has  a  terrible  effect  on  me. 

Mrs.  Brooke.    Really? 

Pell.  I  wish  I  had  led  a  better  life  and  long  to 
be  the  father  of  a  family  of  noble  children. 

Mrs.  Brooke.  But  why  should  June  feel  the  way 
you  do? 

Pell.    Why  shouldn't  he? 

Mrs.  Brooke.  It  would  be  impossible  anyway — 
there's  Roma. 

Pell.    Where? 

Mrs.  Brooke.    In  Southern  California 

Pell.  Much  too  far — besides — why  should  he 
consider  her? 

Mrs.  Brooke.  Well,  you  know  June  has  old- 
fashioned  ideas  about  divorce;  he  doesn't  believe 
in  it. 

Pell.  He  will  when  the  time  comes.  You  know 
the  fatal  thing — the  thing  that  does  it? 

Mrs.  Brooke.    What  do  you  mean,  Baxter? 
Pell.   Her  eyes.    They're  like  a  child's  on  Christ- 
mas morning.    I've  seen  my  sister's  little  Eddie  and 


CO 


"BE  CALM,   CAMILLA"  79 

Betty  just  before  they  go  in  to  sec  the  tree — they 
expect  so  much,  you  know — ^you'd  kill  yourself  if 
they  didn't  like  their  presents. 

Mrs.  Brooke.  Baxter — I  know  just  what  you 
mean.  I  believe  my  eyes  used  to  be  like  that  too, 
but  I  got  so  accustomed  to  going  in  and  finding  not 
even  a  tree,  that  they  lost  the  expression.  ("Pell 
takes  her  hand,  sympathetically.  Enter  Junius  down 
stairway.  Affected.)  Baxter  was  just  telling  us 
about  his  sister's  children,  June,  dear  little  Eddie 
and  Betty — their  eyes  on  Christmas  morning  are  so 
wonderful ! 

Junius,    ("l.    Rather  mystified)    Oh! 

Mrs.  Brooke,  (c.)  Christmas  mornings  with- 
out children  are  so  ridiculous.. 

Pell,  (r.)  Yes,  people  without  children  really 
ought  not  to  marry. 

Mrs.  Brooke.    Why,  Baxter! 

Pell.  I  was  saying  that  the  children's  eyes  re- 
minded me  of  Miss  Hathaway's. 

Junius.  Oh,  yes,  I  wonder  where  she  is — did  she 
go  out?     (Looking  at  Mrs.  Brooke.J 

(Enter  Gus  l.u.J 

Gus.  I  don't  want  to  alarm  you  folks,  but  there's 
been  a  kind  of  an  accident.  The  kid  fell  in  the 
lake,  and  they're  bringing  her  up.  ^Junius  rushes 
out  door  L.U.,  Pell  after  him.) 

(Enter  Mac,  excitedly,  r.i.^ 

Mac.  I  heard  about  it,  Mr.  Beals — what  can  I 
do? 

Gus.  Alma  wants  some  blankets,  Mac,  and  some 
hot- water  bags. 


8o  "BE  CALM,   CAMILLA" 

Mrs.  Brooke.  I  have  one  in  my  dressing-case. 
Shall  I  get  it? 

Mac.  We've  plenty,  ma'am.  Private  hot-water 
bags  in  every  room.    What  else,  sir? 

Gus.    Some  brandy,  I  expect. 

Mac.  Yes,  sir;  private  stock.  (Exits  Mac  hur- 
riedly R.I.J 

Mrs.  Brooke.  (Going  to  GusJ  Mr.  Beals,  how. 
did  it  happen?  Did  she  purposely — did  she  inten- 
tionally  

Gus.  I  don't  know.  I  was  sitting  with  Alma 
on  the  stone  steps  when  she  passed  us.  She  stopped 
and  spoke,  but  her  face  was  kind  of  white  and  after 
she  went  we  followed  her  and  got  down  there  just 
as  the  boatman,  whoever  he  is,  pulled  her  out. 

Mrs.  Brooke.    Oh — how  terrible. 

Gus.    Yes,  poor  kid. 

(Enter  Alma  l.v.) 

Alma.    (To  Gus  J   Did  you  get  the  things  ? 
Gus.    Yes,  Mac  is  doing  it.    (Exits  upstairs.) 

Mrs.  Brooke.    Alma — it  isn't — she  isn't 

Alma.  (Stoically)  And  if  she  was  it's  all  right. 
She's  in  his  arms  where  she  wanted  to  be,  and  every- 
thing is  for  the  best.     (Exits  upstairs.) 

(Enter  Junius  l.u.  carrying  Camilla.  •He  goes 
to  the  stairway  and  up.  Pell  follows  him  in. 
Enter  Mac  r.i.j 

Mac.  (To  Almaj  The  blankets  and  hot-water 
bags  have  gone  up  the  back  stairs.  (He  continues 
nervously,  half  to  himself.)  Very  dangerous  to  have 
the  lake  there.  It's  a  beautiful  lake,  but  anyone's 
likely  to  step  into  it  when  they're  walking  out  of  an 
evening.     Oh,  yes.     (He  goes  out  R.i.j 


"BE  CALM,  CAMILLA"  8i 

Pell.  (Sitting  on  piano  bench)  Qo  you  think  she 
did — jump  in? 

Mrs.  Brooke.  Why,  of  course  she  did.  I  knew 
she  was  going  to — if  you're  in  a  beautiful  country 
place  like  this — and  you're  not  going  to  stay  in  it — 
and  you're  not  going  to  New  York — where  are  you 
going?    Into  the  lake,  of  course. 

Pell.  Well,  if  you  knew  it,  why  didn't  you  tell 
us? 

Mrs.  Brooke.    What  could  you  have  done? 

Pell.  Well — I'm  just  ponceited  enough  to  think 
I  could  keep  a  girl  from  jumping  into  a?  lake,  if  I 
put  my  mind  on  it. 

^Junius  comes  down  the  stairs.) 

Mrs.  Brooke.  (Sympathetically)  Well,  that's 
what  you  get,  June,  for  trying  to  help  people  from  a 
strange  world  we  don't  belong  in. 

Junius.  (Standing  c.  at  fireplace)  What  did  you 
say  to  her,  Celia  ? 

Mrs.  Brooke.  I?  Good  heavens,  June,  you're 
not  going  to  make  me  responsible. 

Junius.  No,  no ;  but  you  were  talking  to  her  just 
before  it  happened. 

Pell.  You  were  talking  about  her  going  away 
when  I  came  in. 

Junius.    About  her  going  away? 

Mrs.  Brooke.    Yes,  she  said  she  was  going 

Junius.  She  just  came  in  and  said  she  was  go- 
ing— away  ? 

Mrs.  Brooke.  I  believe  I  said  I  was  going  away, 
first. 

Pell.  I'm  sure  that  wasn't  the  reason  she  jumped 
in  the  lake 

Junius.  You  talked  for  a  long  time,  Celia.  I 
heard  your  voice,  it  seemed  for  hours. 


82  "BE   CALM,   CAMILLA'' 

Mrs.  Brooke.  Why,  June — wc  just  chatted  a 
little. 

Junius.  (Insisting)  I  know.  But  what  were 
you  chatting  about,  Ceha? 

Mrs.  Brooke.  Different  things.  We  talked  about 
Roma  a  Httle,  June.  She  asked  ine  about  her — 
and  if  she  was  very  beautiful,  and  about  her 
voice 

Junius.  Oh,  her  voice !  That  might  have  some- 
thing to  do  with  it. 

Mrs.  Brooke.  Dear  me — well,  I  don't  know  how 
to  act  with  such  people,  June,  To  find  myself  cast 
up  against  a  primitive  nature  like  hers  confuses  me, 
ril  confess.     I  probably  do  say  the  wrong  thing. 

Junius.  (Thoughtfully — after  a  moment)  There's 
something  very  primitive  about  the  things  that  really 
matter.  Celia.  Life  and  love  and  death — there's 
something  very  primitive  about  all  three. 

Mrs.  Brooke.  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,  June 
— and  I  don't  suppose  you  do.  But  I  don't  blame 
you  for  anything  you  may  say — whether  it  means 
anything  or  not. 

Junius.  Life  and  love  and  death — they  are  the 
only  things  that  matter. 

Mrs.  Brooke.  (Suddenly  serious)  I've  always 
known  that — and  yet — we  spend  almost  all  our  time 
over  other  things. 

Junius.  Go  upstairs  Ceha,  will  you?  There 
might  be  something  you  could  do  to  help. 

Mrs.  Brooke.  Why,  of  course.  I'd  have  gone 
before — only  I  was  so  excited. 

Junius.  Of  course  you  would.  ("Mrs.  Brooke 
starts  up  the  stairs,  Gus  comes  down.) 

Gus.  (In  answer  to  inquiring  looks)  All  to  the 
good.  Her  eyes  are  open  and  I  think  she  could 
speak  if  she  wanted  to. 

Mrs.  Brooke.     Oh,  I  wish  she  would.     I've  al- 


f 


'BE  CALM,   CAMILLA"  83 


ways  wanted  to  know  the  first  thing  people  say  after 
they  kill  themselves.     (Exit  Mrs.  Brooke. J 

(Enter  Mac  r.i.     He  brings  a  decanter  of  brandy 
and  glasses  on  tray,  which  he  sets  on  piano.) 

Mac.  (Standing  round  to  be  near  them)  The 
blankets  and  hot-water  bags  have  gone  up  the  back 
stairs,  sir. 

Junius.  All  right,  Mac — that's  good.  (Sits  r.  on 
arm  of  davenport.) 

Mac.  I  tell  you — the  path  gets  pretty  steep  down 
there,  sir — many  a  time  Fve  just  saved  myself  from 
going  in. 

Junius.  Really,  Mac  ?  Well,  you  must  keep  away 
from  the  lake. 

Mac.  Yes,  sir,  after  dark  especially.  It's  better 
to  keep  on  the  wood  side  of  the  house. 

Pell.  Even  there  you  might*  run  into  a  tree.  Bet- 
ter really  to  keep  on  the  inside. 

Junius.    (To  Gusj    Does  Alma  think 

Gus.  Oh,  yes — Alma's  sure — she  wouldn't  give 
up  anyway. 

Junius.     I  know  that — I  was  just  wondering. 

Pell.  What  a  commentary  on  hfe,  eh?  A  girl 
young  and  beautiful,  with  everything  to  live  for,  and 
she  wants  to  end  it* 

Mac.  Oh,  sir — no.  You're  quite  mistaken,  sir. 
It  was  nothing  like  that — I  worked  for  this  young 
lady,  sir,  before  any  of  you  knew  her  and  she  has  a 
sweet,  sunny  disposition.  Even  when  things  were 
pretty  bad — I  mean,  things  ain't  always  what  one 
could  wish  even  in  the  best  hotels,  she  always  had  a 

smile  for  you Oh,  no — it  was  an  accident — 

that  might  happen  to  anyone — like  I  was  explain- 
ing. 


84  "BE  CALM,  CAMILLA" 

Pell.  (Looking  at  Mac  admiringly)  You're  all 
right,  Brownlow.     (He  goes  out  L.u.j 

Mac.  But  it's  true,  sir.  I  hope  you  believe  me, 
Mr.  Patterson. 

Junius.  Certainly  I  do.  Take  a  little  drink  for 
yourself,  Mac. 

Mac.  Oh,  thank  you,  sir.  (Starts  to  take  drink, 
then  stops.)    Well,  I  guess  Fd  better  not. 

Junius.    I  forgot,  you're  quite  right. 

Mac.  Yes,  sir.  I've  given  the  subject  some 
thought,  sir.  I  had  an  idea  of  being  a  "periodical." 
I  have  a  cousin  who  only  goes  off  on  the  Fourth  of 
July,  but  it  might  not  work  with  me.  I'd  better 
not,  sir.    (Exit  R.i.j 

Junius.  (To  Gusj  Were  you  down  there?  Did 
you  see  how  it  happened? 

Gus.    No.    We  just  got  there  at  the  finish. 

Junius.    Oh. 

Gus.    Mr.  Patterson — I  know  I've  no  right  to  say 

this It's  only  the  interest  and  right  that  an  old 

friend  of  a  girl  has (A    disapproving   glance 

from  JuNius.j  And  when  I  say  an  old  friend,  I  don't 
mean  anything  that's  any  reflection  on  the  girl — I  just 
mean  as  much  of  an  old  friend  as  a  girl  would  let  a 
fellow  be  who  admired  and  respected — yes  and 
loved — in  a  perfectly  nice,  hopeless  way — for  any 
fellow  that  didn't  love  her  would  be  a  damned 
fool 

Junius.    Of  course. 

Gus.  I  know  why  she  jumped  in  the  lake — ^and  I 
suppose  you  do.  I  know  you're  a  great  man— and 
I'm  nobody  at  all — but  I  say,  she  paid  you  a  very 
great  compliment.  And  I  say  that  if  a  wonderful 
girl  like  that  wants  the  love  of  any  man,  I  don't  care 
who  he  is — there's  only  one  thing  for  him  to  do. 

Junius.  I  see  what  you  mean,  but  there  might 
be  a  reason  that  would  make  it  impossible. 


"BE  CALM,  CAMILLA"  85 

Gus.  Reason?  What's  reason  got  to  do  with  it? 
You  might  as  well  defy  the  laws  of  gravitation.  If 
there  isn't  anything  to  it,  love  I  mean,  then  where 
does  the  whole  world  get  off?  We  ought  to  have 
stopped  long  ago.  We  know  there's  nothing  to  any- 
thing else — well,  then,  if  there's  nothing  to  that — 
we're  gone! 

CAlma  comes  down  the  stairs.) 

Junius.    How  is  she,  Alma? 

Alma.  She's — why,  she's  all  right,  sir.  f Alma 
begins  to  cry.) 

Gus.  Come,  say,  what's  this — the  Queen  of  the 
Nurses  doing  a  flop? 

Alma.  Poor  little  thing,  I  can't  help  it.  She  was 
so  wet.  fGus  goes  to  her,  puts  his  arm  around 
her.)    Why,  so  are  you — ^you're  just  soaking 

Junius.    (To  Gusj    Did  you  go  in  after  her? 

Gus.  No,  I  didn't.  I  can't  swim.  I'm  going  to 
learn  to-morrow,  if  it  takes  me  all  day. 

Alma.  He  held  her  while  Burkhardt  got  the 
rubber  coat ('Mac  enters.) 

Junius.  You  get  some  dry  clothes  on ;  Mac,  take 
Mr.  Beals  upstairs. 

Mac.    Yes,  sir. 

Gus.    No,  thanks,  I'll  be  going  along. 

Alma.  You'd  row  back  with  those  wet  things  on, 
I  suppose. 

Gus.    Sure — it  would  do  me  good. 

Alma.    (Sternly)    You  go  with  Mac. 

Gus.  (Meekly)  Oh,  all  right.  Alma.  You're  the 
boss.     ("Mac  goes  up  the  stairway  with  Gus. J 

Junius.  (Standing  by  the  fire  looking  into  it) 
Alma,  I  don't  know  what  to  do. 

Alma.    No,  sir.     It's  hard  to  know,  because  she's 


m  "BE   CALM,   CAMILLA" 

the  sweetest  little  thing I  never  was  with  any- 
one that  I  felt  to,  like  I  do  to  her. 

Junius.  No,  no — neither  was  L 

Alma.  (Glancing  at  him)  Maybe  everything'U 
straighten  itself  out  in  the  end — when  we  give  up, 
things  sometimes  do,  just  straighten  themselves 
out 

Junius.  You  think  we  have  to  give  up  first? 
Well,  Alma — I  feel  like  it,  really. 

Alma.  Of  course  you  know,  sir,  how  it  is.  She's 
young  and  she  thinks  she'll  never  get  over  it,  but 
you  can't  tell.  Maybe  this  was  a  good  thing.  A 
dose  of  cold  water  is  good  for  almost  everything — 
from  love,  down.  (^Camilla,  in  dressing-gown,  ap- 
pears on  the  stairway.  Immediately  all  call  the  nurse.) 
Who  said  you  could  get  up?  Have  you  got  your 
slippers  on?  Let  me  feel  your  hands — well,  they're 
warm. 

Camilla.  (To  Junius,  not  heeding  AlmaJ  I 
was  afraid  you'd  gone. 

Alma.     Do  you  feel  all  right? 

Camilla.   Yes — I — I — I — do  .  .  . 

Alma.  (Glancing  at  JuniusJ  You  can't  be  down 
here  long  you  know.  You  can  just  say  "good-bye" 
to  Mr.  Patterson — that's  all. 

Camilla.   I  know  it. 

(Exit  Alma  up   the  stairway.      Camilla  goes  to 
bench  c.  and  sits.) 

Junius.  My  child,  how  could  you!  (Coming 
down  L.  of  bench  c.)    I  want  to  ask  you  something, 

Camilla (Gently.)    I  won't  ask  you  if  you  feel 

badly — do  you? 

Camilla.    Ask  me. 

Junius.  Do  you  think  you  are  treating  me  quite 
right?      (Sits  on  bench.) 


"BE  CALM,  CA^MILLA"  87 

Camilla,    (r.c.)    I  want  you  to  be  happy. 

JuNius.  fL.c.j  You  want  me  to  be  happy.  After 
nearly  killing  you  at  our  first  meeting,  you  decide 
to  drown  yourself  and  have  me  feel  responsible  for 
that  too,  because — you  want  me  to  be  happy. 

Camilla.     Oh — forgive  me! 

Junius.  It  isn't  a  matter  of  forgiveness — ^but 
really  I  don't  know  what  to  do — listen  to  me,  dear. 
Do  you  remember  what  you  told  me  at  the  hospital  ? 

Camilla.    No. 

Junius.  About  your  voice — sounding  so  wonder- 
ful at  times  ? 

Camilla.     I  don't  believe  it  did. 

Junius.  Why,  of  course  it  did.  Now,  I'll  tell 
you  what  I  thought  of  doing.  I  didn't  tell  you  before, 
because  I  wanted  you  to  just  be  quiet  up  here  and 
think  of  nothing  but  getting  well.  I'll  send  you 
abroad  to  study,  to  Italy.  Alma  can  go  with  you 
and  anyone  else  you  want. 

Camilla.    Anyone  ? 

Junius.    Yes. 

Camilla.    You? 

Junius.    No. 

Camilla.    I  don't  want  to  go. 

Camilla.  Haven't  you  any  ambition,  Camilla? 
Don't  you  want  to  make  people  proud  of  you  ? 

Camilla.  Only  you.  And  I  wouldn't  care 
whether  you  were  proud  or  not  if  you  only — ^but 
you  don't. 

Junius.  (A  little  desperate)  Camilla,  you  know 
I  can't  marry  you,  don't  you? 

Camilla.    Yes.    I  didn't  expect  you  to. 

Junius.  Well,  you  certainly  wouldn't  want  any- 
thing else.  You  wouldn't  want  to  be  more  to  me 
than  a  dear,  sweet  child  that  I  love  and  respect, 

Camilla.  Not  if  you  don't  love  me,  and  I  know 
you  don't. 


88  "BE  CALM,  CAMILLA" 

Junius.   Well — ^how  do  you  know — I  don't  ? 

Camilla.  (After  a  moment)  You  said  that  a 
kiss  would  be  followed  by  all  sorts  of  complica- 
tions— I  kissed  you — and  it  wasn't  followed  by  any- 
thing at  all — then  I  knew.  I'm  not  wonderful 
enough.     I'm  not  like  them. 

Junius.    Like  them? 

Camilla.  Madame  La  Valliere — Du  Barry  and 
Camille — and  all  the  wonderful  women  who  made 
men  love  them  whether  they  wanted  to  or  not. 

Junius.    I  should  hope  you  were  not  like  them. 

Camilla.     But  I  wish  I  were (Looking  at 

him  wistfully.)  Because — my  life  was  over  when 
you  came  into  it,  and  I  can't  help  it,  I  just  want 
to  be  with  you  .  .  . 

Junius.  (Affected  and  stern  at  the  same  time) 
You  must  wait  patiently,  Camilla — until  I  decide 
what's  best  to  be  done. 

Camilla.  Yes.  (After  waiting  a  moment.)  Have 
you  decided? 

Junius.  It  would  be  a  year  at  least  before  I  could 
do  anything — and  in  the  meantime — you're  so  irre- 
sponsible— so — so  different  from  the  way  I  thought 
you  were  going  to  be.  Your  jumping  into  the  lake 
makes  me  wonder — it  makes  me  nervous — I  don't 
like  it. 

Camilla.  (Eagerly)  I  shouldn't  think  you  would 
—I  didn't  like  it— I  didn't  do  it! 

Junius.    You  didn't  do  it? 

Camilla.  No.  I  got  into  the  canoe — and  it  just 
tipped  over — but  of  course  I  would  have  jumped  into 
the  lake,  if  I'd  thought  it  would  do  any  good. 

Junius.  (After  a  moment)  It  isn't  money,  is  it, 
Camilla?  Because  you  know,  you  can  have  all  I've 
got,  without  me. 

Camilla.     (Not  offended)     No — no,  I  wouldn't 


"BE  CALM,   CAMILLA"  8g 

care  about  that  at  all — I  don't  believe  any  of  them 
did.     I  mean 

Junius.  (Hurriedly)  I  know — ^those  ladies  you 
spoke  of. 

Camilla.  I  think  they  really  loved — the  money 
was  only  an  excuse. 

Junius.  (After  pause,  gently)  You  see — I  didn't 
want  to  marry  again,  Camilla.  It  was  such  a  miser- 
able business. 

Camilla.   I'm  so  sorry — don't  feel  that  you  must. 

Junius  (Looking  at  her  quickly)  Why,  of  course 
I  must.  I  said  that  if  you  only  lived,  I'd  make  you 
happy — and  if  that  will  do  it 

Camilla.    Oh — it  will (Crossing  her  hands 

on  her  breast.)    Do  you  think  I  ought  to  be  calm? 

Junius.  (Taking  her  in  his  arms)  I'm  not! 
And  when  I  said  on  the  stairs,  I'd  forgotten — I 
hadn't 

Camilla..  Oh,  hadn't  you,  truly?  Tell  me,  are 
you  just  a  little  afraid  of  me? 

Junius.  I'm  terribly  afraid  of  you,  Camilla — 
afraid  I  might  lose  you  sometime 

Camilla.  Oh — I  need  never  be  calm  any  more! 
(Her  head  slowly  rests  on  his  breast,) 


CURTAIN 


DOROTHY^S   NEIGHBORS. 

A  brand  new  comedy  in  four  acts,  by  Marie  Doran,  author  of  "The 
New  Co-Ed,"  "Tempest  and  Sunshine,"  and  many  other  successful 
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arrangre;  two  plain  interiors  and  one  exterior,  a  garden,  or,  if  neces- 
sary, the  two  interiors  will  answer.  Costumes  modern.  Plays  2^ 
hours. 

The  story  is  about  vocational  training,  a  subject  now  widely  dis- 
cussed; also,  the  distribution  of  large  wealth. 

Back  of  the  comedy  situation  and  snappy  dialogue  there  is  good 
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particularly  suited  to  high  echogj  production,  Price,  50  Cent*. 


MISS  SOMEBODY  ELSE. 

A  modem  play  in  four  acts  by  Marion  Short,  author  of  *'Th« 
Touchdown,"  etc.  6  males,  10  females.  Two  interior  scenes.  Cos- 
tumes modem.     Plays  2J4  hours. 

This  delightful  comedy  has  gripping  dramatic  moments,  unusual 
character  types,  a  striking  and  original  plot  and  is  essentially  modera 
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great  comedy  for  high  schools  and  colleges,  and  the  wholesome  story 
will  please  the  parent's  and  teachers.     We  strongly  recommend  it. 

Price,  30  Cents* 


PURPLE  AND  FINE  LINEN. 

An  exceptionally  pretty  comedy  of  Puritan  New  England,  in  three 
acts,  by  Amita  B.  Fairgrieve  and  Helena  Miller.  9  male,  5  female 
characters. 

This  is  the  Lend  A  Hand  Smith  College  prize  play.  It  is  an  ad- 
mirable play  for  amateurs,  is  rich  in  character  portrayal  of  varied 
types  and  is  not  too  difficult  while  thoroughly  pleasing. 

Price,  30  Cent*. 

(The   Above  Are   Subject  to    Royalty    When    Produced) 


SAMUEL  FRENCH,  28-30  West  38th  Street,  New  York  City 

Nt«  aitf  Expllett  Oftcrifrtivo  Catalofw  Mtilid  Frii  in  Rivmt 


BILLETED. 


i 


A  eotnedy  In  3  acts,  br  F.  Tennison  Jesse  ajid  H.  Harwood 
nales,  S  females.  One  easy  interior  seer-.  A  charming-  comedy, 
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Margaret  Anglin's  bi>T  success.  Amateurs  will  find  this  comedy  eaay 
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NOTHING  BUT  THE  TRUTH, 

A  comedy  in  3  acts.  By  James  Montgomery.  5  males,  6  females. 
Costumes,  modern.     Two  interior  scenes.      Plays  2^3    hours. 

Is  it  possible  to  tell  the  absolute  truth — even  for  twenty-four  hours? 
It  is— at  least  Bob  Bennett,  the  hero  of  "Nothing  But  the  Truth," 
accomplished  the  feat.  The  bet  he  made  with  his  business  partners, 
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country  pw  boast.  Price,  60  Cents. 


IN  WALKED  JIMMY.  ii 


A  comedy  in  4  acts,  by  Minnie  Z.  Jaffa.  10  males,  2  females  (sl- 
tbough  any  number  of  males  and  females  may  be  used  as  clerks, 
etc.).  Two  interior  scenes.  Costumes,  modern.  Plays  254  hours. 
The  thing  into  which  Jimmy  walked  was  a  broken-down  shoe  factory, 
when  the  clerks  had  all  been  fired,  and  when  the  proprietor  was  in 
serious  contemplation  of   suicide. 

Jimmy,  nothmg  else  but  plain  Jimmy,  would  have  been  a  mysterious 
fi^rt  had  it  not  been  for  his  matter-of-fact  manner,  his  smile  and 
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that  place  as  a  permanent  boarding  house  himself,  and  foiled  the 
villain. 

Clean,  wholesome  comedy  with  just  a  touch  of  human  nature,  just 
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Jimmy  is  full  of  the  religion  of  life,  the  religrion  of  happiness  and 
the  religion  of  helpfulness,  and  he  so  permeates  the  atmosphere  with 
his  "religion"  that  everyone  is  happy.  The  spirit  of  optimism,  good 
cheer,  and  hearty  laughter  dominates  the  play.  There  is  not  a  dull 
moment  in  any  of  the  four  acts.     We  strongly  recommend  it. 

Price.  60  Cents. 


MARTHA   BY-THE-DAY. 

An  optimistic  comedy  in  three  acts,  by  Julie  M.  Lippmann,  authei 
«l  the  "Martha"  stories.  5  males,  S  females.  Three  interior  scenes. 
Costumes  modem.     Plays  2VJ   hours. 

It  is  altogether  a  gentle  thti;g,  this  play.  It  is  full  of  quaint  hu 
nior,  old-fashioned,  homely  sentiment,  the  kind  that  people  who  set 
the  play  will   recall  and   chuckle   over   to-morrow   and   the  next   day 

Miss  Lippmann  has  herself  adapted  her  very  successful  book  foi 
stage  service,  and  in  doing  this  has  selected  from  her  novel  the  mosi 
telling  incidents,  infectious  comedy  and  homely  sentiment  for  th« 
play,  and  the  result  is  thoroughly  delightful.  Price,  60  Cents 

(The  Above  Are  Subject  to  Royalty  When  Produced) 
SAMUEL  FRENCH,  2S-30  We.t  38th  Street.  New  York  City 

^    Itov  tid  Qipfiill  iMcrfplira  Catiligis  MalM  Fm  n  RhnU 


UESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  OEPT 

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General  Library 


VB  3 1 740 


50(W;*J 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CAUFORNIA  UBRARY 


FRENCH'S 
Standard  Library  Edition 


Clyde  Fkch 

miliam  Gillettft 

Augustus  Thomas 

Gtor^t  Broadhurat 

Edward  £.  Kidder 

Percv  MacKa/e 

Sir  Arthur  Conan  Doyle 

Louis  N.  Parker 

R.  C.  Carton 

Alfred  Sutro 

Richard  Harding  Davis 

Sir  Arthur  W.  Pinero 

Anthony  Hope 

Oscar  Wilde 

Haddon  Chambers 

Jerome  K.  Jerome 

Cosmo  Cordon  Lennox 

H.  V.  Esmond 

Mark  Swan 

Grace  L.  Fumiss 

Marguerite  Merrington 

Hermann  Sudermann 

Rida  Johnson  Young 

Arthur  Law 

Rachel  Crothers 

Martha  Morton 

H.  A.  Du  Souchet 

W.  W.  Jacobs 

Madeleine   Lucette   Ryley 


Includes  Plays  by 

Booth  Tarkington 
J.  Hartley  Maimers 
James  Forbes 
James  Montgomery 
Wra.  C.  de  Mille 
Roi  Cooocr  Megrue 
Edward  "E.  Rose 
Israel  Zangwill 
Henry  Bernstein 
Harold  Brighouse 
Channing  Pollock 
Harry  Durant 
Winchell  Smith 
Margaret  Mayo 
Edward  Peple 
A.  E.  W.  Mason 
Charles  Klein 
Henry  Arthur  Jones 
A.  E.  Thomas 
Fred.  Ballard 
C3rril  Harcourt 
Carlisle  Moore 
Ernest  Denny 
Laurence  Housman 
Harry  James  Smith 
Eldgar  Sclwyn 
Augustin  McHugh 
Robert  Housum 
Charles  Kenyon 
C.  M.  S.  McLcllan 


French's  International  Copyrighted  Edition  con- 
tains plays,  comedies  and  farces  of  international 
reputation;  also  recent  professional  successes  by 
famous  American  and  English  Authors. 
Send  a  four-cent  stamp  for  our  new  catalogue 
describing  thousands  of  plays, 

SAMUEL    FRENCH 

Oldest  Play  Publisher  in  the  World 
28-30  West  38th  Street,        NEW  YORK  CITY 


